Destrudo UNEDITED
by Zarrexaij
Summary: Walter Lavartius thought everything was back to normal. When he attempted to summon a daedra, he wound up in a mysterious place. And there is something wicked, hiding there...
1. A Mysterious Place

Disclaimer: I do not own Sheogorath, Vvardenfell, Balmora, the Daedra, and just about anything else in this chapter, excluding Walter Lavartius and the mysterious place, both of which are my creations, are the Elder Scrolls content, which is owned by Bethesda. No lawsuits, in otherwords, kthnxbai.

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"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!"  
Dante Alighieri, _The Inferno_

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I once thought a man was made by what he was. I foolishly thought it took a completely worthwhile career to define manhood. I was proven very wrong, and I would never forget it. It was a sadistic way of teaching, but I learned a man is defined by his actions.

It had been a regular day for me. I had been religiously reading and absorbing notes from other scholars. Occasionally I would lift the pregnant quill from its ink bottle and write some notes on paper. I was sitting at a table, alone, in Balmora's Mage's Guild. I was dressed in my usual: a pure blue robe, an amulet made of gold, and normal brown leather boots. The incident I had been a part of nearly six weeks ago crossed my mind. I had nearly forgotten about it. It was unfathomable for me, Walter Lavartius, to be involved in such insanity. Being the foolish man I am, I assumed everything was completely normal now. Unbeknownst to myself, I would be a part of something far larger and stranger.

I had lifted my head from the notes. My teal eyes scanned over my surroundings. My table was in front of the others. I realized it was very late at night. Even Ajira had gone to bed. I dimmed my lantern and sighed. Although I was a member of the guild, I didn't want to sleep here. Instead, I'd sleep at the Lucky Lockup. Yes. I gathered my things innocently and headed upstairs. I opened the door and went out into a storm. It was a thunderstorm. I shivered. I loathed them with a passion. I ran the short distance to the Lucky Lockup. My joints complained on the way. I was barely twenty-five, and my bones already despised me. When I got inside, I was greeted by a groggy-looking Dunmer woman. She was younger than I. I paid her ten septims without ado and she gave me the key. I headed to my room, put my things in the chest, locked the door and chest, and fell asleep on the soft bed.

In the morning, I felt humble. I tossed and turned all night. Nightmares about decay, dead bodies, and needles had haunted me. It was a vivid dream, but as time progressed, I forgot most of the details. In my gut, I felt as thought my dreams were screaming that something was horribly, terribly, immensely wrong. But I ignored the primal pleading. I dressed myself in a different blue robe, a slightly paler one at that. I was oblivious, just as everyone else. Being the prudent man I am, I gathered my belongings and headed out. Feeling compelled to see _her_ again, I was headed to the only shrine of Sheogorath I knew existed besides Ald Daedroth. There was no need to name it. I had the choice of walking, or bribing a silt-strider caravaner into taking me there. Walking seemed to be the less desirable of the two. I ambled up the close-by stairs, up to the silt-strider. I paid the caravaner a hefty price of fifty-five septim to take me there. I daydreamed all the way there about my part times with _her_. Why, I loved the daedroth so, I did not know. But the need to be with _her_ was extremely urgent.

The silt-strider awaited far outside the shrine. I bid him a brief goodbye. I knew what I had to do. The trodden path I walked upon was cracked. The dirt was a graying-blue. The thorny trama shrubs lined it. What a morbid road to Sheogorath, I had thought. I felt my face tighten, stern. I curved around the hill ahead. The shrine was awaiting me. She stared at me with intensity. It felt like she was saying "I was waiting for you, Walter Lavartius, and now you are here for me". The lesser daedra around me seemed to hear her, and watching me. Even the military Dremora stopped, and gazed in honor. I felt several of their eyes on me as I stepped up the odd Daedric steps, made of gray, red, and purple stone, and reached for the door. It groaned as I gently opened it. I winced at the whining of the door. My icy eyes scanned the abyss. Only a few torches were lit inside. Then, I took my first step into the shrine.

The place caused me to feel claustrophobic. It was dark, a little damp, and near-devoid of detail. I spotted a flight of stairs, and I went down them. A golden saint stood, mouth agape, in the foyer, holding a claymore of some sorts. She stood there, motionless, in front of a great stone statue of Sheogorath. Her gaze on me penetrated my soul, and I felt sinful. Nevertheless, I ambled into the room; I tried suggesting no threat. She still did not move after I slid past her to kneel at the altar. In my mind, I was betraying Hermaeus Mora as I knelt to the statue of the Mad God. My mouth moved as I silently myself a prayer, not to Sheogorath, or Hermaeus, or any Daedra in particular. I just wanted luck. After the brief prayer, I stood. I tried remembering how to summon a Daedra. I closed my eyes and chanted. I groped the darkness, going higher and higher, until I saw a figure in the correct Sphere. I grabbed for it, knowing it was her, and pulled. After a few tugs, she came down. I must have under-calculated how much strength it took, because I blacked out.

I opened my eyes. I expected darkness to devour me. Instead, my eyes were in shock. It was ardent, and it wasn't torch light. I blinked a couple of times and sat up. My hands brushed off the top half of my robe. I turned around and peered at my surroundings. I was in a hallway made of stone. It was quite wide, about as wide as an actual room would be. And I was alone. Zarrexaij was no where to be found. The feeling of being completely alone crept over me. That feeling scared me more than the idea of drowning. It wasn't a guess; I knew I was completely alone in this alien place. Standing up, I brushed the lower part of my robe. Tasting bitter mercy, I began looking for a door. There was a door to my right. I opened it. At that moment later, I wished I hasn't.

Weird, sickly insects were crawling up the wall. They were huge, gray, and leech-like. There were a few squelches as a few fell to the ground. I covered my mouth and warred with the urge to vomit. A myriad of them covered a body that laid in the upper east corner. The room smelt horrible of corpses. The room led to nowhere, so I closed the door. I wondered "_Where the hell am I? What kind of place is this?"_. I promenaded to the door across from the leech-filled room. I tried opening it, but it would not budge. After my stomach had settled, I went to the door about five steps on the same side of the hallway as the locked door. It appeared to be unlocked as I twisted the doorknob. This time, I gradually opened it. The environment inside shocked me more than the last. The floor was covered in metallic silvery spikes. There was a door opposite of me. In the center of the room, lie a still writhing body, skewered by a spike. The person was impaled on its belly, face down. Where I was at, I could not tell who or what it was. The room was well-lit; however, the body was immersed in shadows. Avoiding the spikes, I ambled to the body. I squinted and lifted the head.

The head was mine, yet not mine. The doppelganger's eyes were wide and blank. He extended a hand and groped at my robe. "You'd be better off dead if you knew the truth," he, or it, told me. Its lips barely moved, and the voice was guttural. A bubble of blood escaped the mouth of the doppelganger, and the arm fell limp. I let go of the head. It was a strange, ominous message. It haunts me 'til this day. I inferred the doppelganger was blind and deaf because it did not react to sound or movement and its eyes had no spark or focus. I moved on out of the room, and back into the asylum. I heard a noises, and I looked towards the south part of the hallway. Nothing. Then, I saw a blur in the corner of my eyes. I knew destrudo had found me.

It was nothing. My eyes scanned over an open part of the hallway, a room perhaps, on the northern side of the passageway. Cautiously, I proceeded to that area. I could see there was a barren fountain, covered in some kind of moss or mold. The room wasn't very large from what I could tell. Finally I stepped into the room. It was so eerie and quiet in this place. It was hard to believe in the rooms, which were pure chaos; this room, however, was stuck in stasis. A dead room. The air, even in this room, felt and tasted dead, stale, and static. I was beginning to understand the nature of this place. Spotting a stone bench on the west side of the room, I ambled over there and sat on the bench. It wasn't that I needed to rest. I just needed to absorb the information that I was stuck here, in a bizarre place, because I made an error. Or maybe, I thought, this was a dream, but it felt too damn real to be a dream.

A new sound caught my attention. It must have been my imagination, or at least I thought at the time. I didn't see anyone, or anything. I accepted early on I was the only "real" person here. Everything else was a phantom. A monster. Oh, they were real, but at the same time, they were illusions. If this was a dream, it was a nightmare. If this was reality, it was insanity. Insanity indeed. I looked around the room for no apparent reason. Then I heard a voice. The voice was familiar. It was a soft, almost confused voice.

"Hullo?" the voice had said. My head turned towards the voice. My view was only partial, because they stood in complete darkness. The only thing visible was a pair of black leather boots. I stood up, alarmed. The person, or whatever it was I thought it was, stepped out of the shadows. An electric shock stung through my body. It was _him._ "Zarrexaij, is that you?" he asked as he stepped forwards towards me. He held out his hand briefly, and snapped it back. It was Sheogorath, a redheaded banker in his autumn years. Or, that was what his avatar resembled. He was festooned in a green waistcoat, with a long-sleeve white dress shirt beneath, and brown pants. His vibrant green eyes lowered, as did his goateed face. He looked haggard and morose. No smile was on his face. Instead, it was a frown. He turned around and headed back where he came from. Wanting some kind of contact, I followed him down the newly discovered hall.

I saw a door shut, so naturally I went to that door and opened it. It was a dark, featureless room. Inside, he lay on the ground, facing the wall opposite of myself. His arms covered his head protectively. I couldn't tell if he knew I was there. A bit concerned for him, I walked closer and knelt. "I'm trying to find her, too. Maybe... we could help each other?" I offered him, trying to sound as amiable as possible. He didn't move, but he did speak, "I've looked for her, and I've yet to find her." His voice was unusually frigid. Then, he sat up and glanced at me. "Maybe you can help me," Sheogorath said, "I don't know why you want to, though. I know you're not particularly fond of me." His eyes gave me an accusing look. Those eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the room made me feel guilty.

"Why do you think that?" I asked him. He glanced at me, and laughed bitterly. He stood up. Sheogorath replied aloofly, "I don't think it, dear Walter; I know it." His face snapped cold. My face was fixed in shock. My mouth was not agape. I looked down and frowned. "Well then, are ye going to sit here helplessly, or are you going to search for her?" he questioned me without the slightest hint of irritation. It sting nonetheless. I stood up and nodded. He went out the door and into the hallway.

He was a bit ahead of me. I would say about seven or eight strides. I caught up to him. He wasn't going that fast. His attention was on the surroundings. The walls had changed. Some parts were turning black. Curiosity peaked, I asked, "What the hell is this place?" He abruptly turned and stopped. His countenance was stern, but I swear I caught a glimpse of excitement, even glee, in his eyes. "This place," he told me, "is neither is or is not. In other words, it is neither potential or existence. It is not even magicka, a blend of the void and Aetherius. I feel this place, and it is not right. This place is a nightmare brought real, a fantasy made true but someone or something. It should not exist. It is all wrong, Walter. Can't you feel it? I can feel this place crawling when I move, writhing while I speak, and grimacing as I think. I sense it breathing and moving. This creation, this abomination, is the result of an unsound, fractured mind, and it is not my own! It reacts to simple thoughts. Your thoughts, and my thoughts, are brought to life. I feel my power means nothing to it. It laughs at me, and I hate it. Walter, this place is the gut of the human mind." He frowned, then sighed. He shook his head, and his beautiful strawberry blond hair moved, too. "Deities have no place here. Here, godhood, power, and life are all _dead_," he continued. This place obviously disturbed him, but he spoke disquietingly calmly. He was greatly moved, but he was painfully numb. Was he fascinated by this place?

I looked into his eyes. His gaze on me was steady. It was a very strange stare, so I could only look into those orbs for a few moments before my spine crawled. I swear behind those eyes, I saw a hell, maybe not one of fire and brimstone, but it was hell. HE asked me, "Shall we move on?" I nodded without saying a word. He turned around, and started walking again. I followed him closely, without question, as we passed by doors. He did not open a single one of them, until we came across a door that was discolored. The door looked bloated and moldy. He turned the doorknob, and slowly opened the door. It squeaked on its hinges as it spread open. I grimaced. The room was surprisingly empty, except for a flight of stairs leading up. The air was a tad bit musty. When Sheogorath closed it, I heard a click. He turned the knob and frowned. "Locked," he mumbled.

He sat on the first step of the stairs. Sheogorath rested his left cheek on his left hand, which was large but elegant. His right hand rested on the stairs. The gold ruby ring glittered in the faint light. He frowned, and swallowed whatever was in his throat. His eyes lowered again. I ambled to the spot in front of him. He did not look at me. "Nothing is wrong," he insisted, "I am just tired." And he did look tired. Not just tired, but jaded. He looked pitiful, and helpless. He was denying anything was wrong. Deep down inside, I thought, he knew he was damned. This place wouldn't let either of us go without a struggle. Sheogorath sighed and he stood. He took a step up, and I followed. Up the stairs we went. They screamed and groaned underneath our boots. When he got to the top of the staircase, he stopped. I couldn't see what he was looking at.

I stood on the tips of my toes to see over one of his shoulders. He was just staring blankly at the door. I could tell that he was trying hard to remember something. Then, he walked to the door in front of him and opened it.

The second floor hallway was identical to its first floor sibling for the most part. The hallway had several doors, leading to who knows where. Sheogorath trotted in quietly. I watched him scan the hallway with his head and eyes as I gathered to his right side. He paid no matter to me. He must have seen something at the south side, because his eyes lit up like lanterns and he beamed widely. He sprinted towards a door about seventy-something steps away. I followed him at the same pace, close to stepping on his heels. Once again, he opened a door, and stepped inside to a new world. The door closed behind him. I opened it, and slid into the room.

He was sitting awkwardly on a platform in the semi-well lit room. This must have been a ritual room. Sheogorath's left leg was perpendicular to his right. In his clutches was a crystal rose. He was holding it very delicately in his slender hands. He held it to his chest, having it touch the first left gold button on his waistcoat. It was over the heart. His face was pallid and lugubrious. He was nostalgic. Then, he looked up at me with sad green eyes. "She was here," he whispered, as though it were heresy, "but now she is gone!" I nodded, not out of understanding but pity. It dawned on me I was in the same situation as him. "Maybe she is close by," I tried reassuring him. A ghost of a shy grin crept on his aged face.

"Mayhap," he replied, still cradling the crystal rose. I smiled at him. It felt maladroit on my taut face. He held the rose out. "Here," he said, grasping one of my hands and placing the rose onto the palm," you can have it. I gave it to her... she would have wanted someone strong to take care of it. But I am too jaded to carry it." His eyes seemed to faintly glow as I held the rose in that hand. I looked up from it and at him. He continued, "That rose can only die if the soul of the holder corrupts. It can be broken easily. Just anger breaks it into shards. Please protect it. I don't think it possesses powers anymore." I stared at the rose, then at him once more. The corners of my mouth drew up slightly and I said, "Thanks."

"This place is so corrupted. What kind of mind could create such a place?" I interrogated rhetorically. He cleared his throat and sat in a normal position. He drew in a long breath before saying, "Only a mind bent on revenge and wrath could create this nightmare, Walter." My flesh tingled as he spoke my name. "I see," I replied with an eyebrow lifted. He knew an uncomfortable amount of information regarding this place. How long had he been here? Days? Weeks? So I interrogated him with that. "How long have you been in this place?" was my interrogation. I sat beside him. Sheogorath thought about that for a brief moment.

"Not quite sure. Time here isn't the same as the time in Oblivion, or the time on Nirn. Darkness and light does not rise or fall here," he told me apathetically. That brought me to think how much time had passed at home. He gazed at me pensively, but said nothing of what he observed. He mumbled in an unusually quiet, low voice, "I miss her. I was always waiting for her, but now she's gone." I turned my head towards him. "But you killed her body," I remarked. I gathered it hurt him, and offended him.

"I had to in order to undo a horrendous crime," he replied to me matter-of-factly. Then his eyes grew very sad. He added onto it with, "I'm sorry. I guess you are right. What I did was an atrocity. I am an iniquity." I stared at him with large, icy teal eyes. I opened my mouth, but he pressed a finger against my lips. "What is this? Fake concern for an old, mad, depraved 'man'? Tell me, _Walter_, can you take that anguish away? Can you heal an eternity's worth of wounds that transcend flesh? Will you love something that can never return such comfort, such warmth, because who you love is piteously weak?" he retorted with narrowed eyes. I had never seen him agitated. He looked the part of mad. In fact, he was bordering on psychotic. His mouth was pulled back into a white snarl. He sat straight up, and he looked much his grand height. I shrunk back, and his anger subsided as quickly as it arose. Sheogorath sighed, and apologized, "Sorry. I did not intend to frighten you." His expression morphed back to subtle melancholy. It was difficult for my mind to accept Sheogorath was far from cheery as he was frequently portrayed. I had heard he had a bi-polar personality, but I hadn't expected any angst to fill the gaps of being an eccentric uncle-like figure and a cunning homicidal maniac.

The silence following was awkward. I broke it with: "No need to apologize. What I said was rather stupid." I flashed a grin at him. His eyes stared at me jadedly. His countenance remained gloomy. He shook his head, but he said nothing towards my insistence. Instead, Sheogorath exhaled. I felt remorse for ever mentioning her corporeal demise. I touched his left arm and looked directly into his eyes. He tensed up to a small degree. Was he uncomfortable or nervous? I found myself entranced in his eyes, which were unbelievably eerie and beautiful. His eyebrows lifted as if to question what I had on my mind. I turned my head and felt sheepish. "What now?" I asked him, facing him but refusing to look into his lovely eyes. He replied tranquilly, "Let us continue, Walter, and _please_ douse that heat from your face." He stood up, and grinned at me. I was blushing, and that obviously amused him. _Did he find fondness in my discomfort?_ I thought.

I followed him out the door again. Sheogorath was still smiling. I felt that the red in my face was augmenting. To him, I was probably a muse. Obviously, I was intriguing him. My legs groaned in pain as I followed him to the next door. My Daedric companion opened the door. "You're quite the ruse," he said to me, beaming as he held the door open. I gazed at him bemusedly, and stepped inside. Sheogorath followed, of course. A hand clasped my shoulder. Squeezing it, he said, "I've frequented this room before, I believe. To leap at the opportunity is not judicious. Astutely it would be to let me lead. Look, do you see that discolored patch on the floor?" Keen eyes would have seen it long before it was pointed out. Either that part was designed that way, or the patch was growing mold. Really, it didn't seem malevolent to me, but it would be imbecilic to ignore his warning. I let him lead me to the spot on the floor. He peered at me and instructed me to move. He tipped it with a boot. That part of the floor descended. A sound of grinding rock filled my ears.

"There were traps here before," he informed me, puzzled himself, "so I suppose it altered itself again." He stroked his goatee. I sniffed. "Is it possible that the rooms changed position, too?" He replied tersely, "Aye." He swallowed, and cleared his throat. I scratched my forehead and frowned. "I guess this is a wild game," I muttered. He looked at me. He responded with passionate words, but a frigid voice, "Yes, _Walter_, I am leading you in circles. Now, is there an is in that question?" I stared at him. He wasn't mad at me. His left eyebrow was raised, though. I turned three-hundred and sixty degrees and opened the door. Sheogorath sighed, "Walter, I implore you: let me assist you." Of course, it was a monotonous voice, which did nothing but irritate me. Outside the room, I folded my arms and waited for him. Then, he closed the door behind him. "Why do you say things in such a depressingly disinterested, disinterested voice?" I challenged him. He shifted.

"If I told you the very reason why, my dearest sirrah _Walter_, I wouldn't be 'unknowable', would I?" he riposted. His face nor voice showed any sign of annoyance. Still, I took the words as biting. His eyes were defiantly glaring into mine. His face was so relaxed, and his body even more so. Really, I couldn't fathom his doldrums. No one is ever that cold if they have been hurt, or I thought at the time. While I was pondering this problem, he opened another door. "Bloody crazed old bastard," I mumbled to myself as I cruised to that door and slipped inside.


	2. Sheogorath's Thanatos

This chapter is a little more... depressing than the first. It contains a little more cursing, more disturbing imagery, and lots of angst.

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"Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it, and hell is only a poor synonym."  
Stephen King, _'Salem's Lot

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_"I heard that," Sheogorath said in reply to what I said. I had just stepped into the hallway. The walls had blackened further. Some places in the walls seemed to be rusting. He himself was gazing at the walls. We were just standing there. "Odd," he remarked, stepping over towards a wall and touching it. His forehead creased, and his crow's feet become more noticeable as he grimaced. "It's mold, or some sort of decadence," he informed me in disgust. He faced me, and sighed. I was puzzled by his behavior now. He sighed once more, only much deeper this time.

"This place is corrupting so rapidly, it's unbelievable," I remarked under my breath. He nodded gravely. He agreed, "Yes. It's progressing at quite a remarkable rate. It's very similar to what happens to a mortal's mind. It's very subtle at first. Just when it seems stable, the verdigris overcomes the resistance." His voice was calm. I swear there was a hint of awe in his voice, too. I followed behind him. He was pacing at an easy rate. His movement seemed a little strained, as if he was tired.

He came across a door that interested him that was further down the hallway. I opened it, and looked inside. I shifted uncomfortably. The sight inside was quite odd. The room was cramped. The lighting in the room was very poor. Only a few scattered lanterns brought light to the room. The walls were flesh colored, and almost seemed to be moving, _breathing_ as if this room was living entity! This was not the most demented sight in the room.

Instead, that was the two deformed, grotesque monsters huddled in the corner. The larger one, who had a elongated, large, eyeless, pointed head, a whip-like tail, gray, rubbery skin, incredibly large talons on each of its lanky hands, and razor sharp fangs, was attacking the other monster. The larger beast was about the height of Sheogorath on its hind feet. Now, the other one was quite smaller. It was smaller by at least a head. It had brownish, rubbery skin, and a long proboscis with a very evil-looking spine coming out of it. It had no tail or eyes. The monster's legs were actually its arms, and its arms were actually its legs. The joints of the creature lacked skin, and usually exposed the bone. The smaller monster was shrieking in pain. It was difficult to tell what the larger creature was doing to it.

I heard a guttural growl. The smaller monster protested, and I heard a loud _slash_through the air. I suppose the petite creature hit the larger one. Suddenly, the room got brighter, and I could see what was happening. The large monster was behind the smaller one. The small abomination squealed as it was repeatedly stabbed with talons. The larger creature roared in triumph in its low voice. The smaller one screamed in its much higher voice. The wretched thing sounded like it was wailing. For a split second, it sounded like the cries of a woman.

The large monster turned around, and looked at me. Drool splattered lazily onto the floor. Its mouth was agape, and shown its brilliant white fangs. Its head was turned in my direction. It sniffed the air. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as it neared me. A cold sweat passed over my body. I did not want to be there. Sheogorath seemed to be shocked. He said or did nothing. When the creature was naught but a few inches from where I was standing, I was about to run.

Then, it gurgled quite incoherently, "Waaaullter. I deeeeed nut do id on perputhe. Whut you thuuuuuuw waaaaath meeene raaaaaiiiiij." I blinked. Sheogorath could take it no longer. He groaned, then forcefully pulled me out of the room by my robe. He slammed the door shut. He was panted, and sweat dripped from his forehead. His long-sleeve dress shirt was now translucent with his sweat. I stared at him with wide eyes, terrified. My heart was still thumping shrilly in my chest.

He frowned and held his head low. He slumped over, and his eyes seemed to take on a duller shade of green. I gazed at him. Gaining my senses, I asked him, "What the hell was that, Sheogorath?" It was quite silent between us for many moments. Finally, he answered. "I would rather not talk about it," he replied. His voice was detached. He exhaled deeper than ever. His eyes lifted onto me. They were full of hurt. Had he been reminded of something _horrible_ that happened to him?

Idly, he began trotting on without me. For whatever reason there was, that imagery had depressed him. I didn't want him sad. Yet, in all my desire for him to be happier, I was numb. I wanted to hurt for him. Understanding him was getting so difficult. What had happened between him and Zarrexaij? Was there something much more than what I saw when I had scried their past and future? He was leaving so many questions of mine unanswered, and I was afraid to ask any more.

Almost as if he read my mind, he mumbled, "Sometimes, Walter, sins are better left unmentioned and unwashed. I'm sure you know that already. A white lie never hurt anyone." I was getting damned uncomfortable as I followed him. His unconceivable composure was perturbing me. It was getting pernicious. Finally, I reached out for his arm. He stopped, and turned towards me. I had also stopped. I stared at him heatedly. I believe he knew this. He looked quite innocent as he began to babble on, and I had _enough_. In my fit, I reached over and rung a slap across his slender porcelain face.

His eyes bugged out of his face. They were wide. His face was a bright, blotchy red. His jaw dropped. Sheogorath struggled to spit out words. His right hand clutched the cheek I had slapped. The Daedric Prince apologized, "Forgive me, for I hath said too much." His voice was humbled. He looked into my eye one last time before he sprinted for a door. This time, he was much too fast for me. I cursed.

"Bloody psychotic banker! I just wanted him to bloody stop his depressing blather, is that too much to ask? I curse you, whatever sadistic force put me in this hell!" I seethed loudly. I started kicking up the dust on the floor. I yelled, screamed, and cursed at the air. Sheogorath had done enough to inflame my temper. Believe me, I couldn't help it. It's not that I didn't like him. Oh no, I simply just had enough of his ambiguous speech! But I guess I was a little harsh on him. He had feelings, too. I took after that door and entered the room.

Yet again, Sheogorath was laying prostrate. He was laying on his back, looking at the nondescript ceiling. His expression was straight, yet tears streamed from his eyes. He turned his head towards me for a moment, then returned to his original position. He told me glumly, "She's not coming back." I stared at him stupidly. It was almost pitiful that his voice contained virtually no emotion. "What?" interrogated. I was befuddled. He turned on his side, facing away from me. "Nothing would allow me that," he replied, "no one would let me se her." I gave him a poignant glance. I responded, "That's nonsense, Sheogorath." He chortled. I looked at him askew.

"It is. Fate is a heartless mistress. Our love wasn't right, Walter. Our love for each other was meant to be. I deserve to be punished," he retorted. He started trembling. I knelt beside him compassionately. "It was all wrong, you see. You don't understand. What I did specifically isn't important, but it was unforgivable. I killed her. I should die for that. I…felled her out of rage. I was so foolish. The God of Mercy has no mercy on my animus! I shall never forget that day," he answered. At this point, he was far too cold to be truly unattached to the events that happened to him. I wanted to turn him over.

I wrapped my arms around his sides to flip him over. My fingers pricked something. I sucked on my bleeding fingers. I looked over and saw that he was holding a sharp dagger. "What the _hell_ are you doing with that?" I asked lividly. He finally turned around. His face was a blotchy rose. He was crying, and holding that dagger terribly close to his chest. "The sorrow," he whimpered in a quiet voice, "will never go away, Walter." My name on his lips was so soft. The dagger was glinting so brightly in the light. I felt my eyes grow larger. _Dear gods_, I thought, _he wants to banish himself_.

I didn't know what to do. I was stupefied by the dagger. "Give me it," I demanded coolly. He gave me a glare, but eventually simmered down. He handed it over without a struggle. He didn't seem to be happy about it, though. He stood up, wandered over to another door, and opened it. Frustrated, I stomped after him. When I opened the door, I was stunned.

He was in the center of the room. It was well-lit and in disarray. He was hanging in the air. There was a tight rope noose around his neck, and a chair kicked over not too far from his feet. I rushed over there. I propped the chair up, and cut the noose with the dagger. I cursed myself as he fell on his knees, onto the hard floor, and crumpled over. Sheogorath laid there limply. I stepped off the chair and sat beside him. He gazed up at me, and then clutch the chest of my robe. He slid his upper half into my lap. He was weeping.

"I wanted to die, Walter, _I wanted to DIE!_" he exclaimed in chokes of sobs. It was almost incoherent. I stared at him foolishly. "But…you can't die," I replied confusedly. He said nothing in reply. But he was mad, what could I expect at this time? I was unbeknownst to much. He buried his head into my chest. It barely muffled the sounds of his loud, but not shrill, crying. I felt so numb. I almost had to force myself to wrap my arms around him. I wanted to comfort him.

He lifted his head to look at me. "I'm sor…" he began before I held a finger to his rosy lips. I told him softly, "No need to be sorry." He gave me an odd look. It was an extremely unpleasant glance. He blinked his reddened eyes. The next look he gave me was tired. He staggered upwards. He held his head, like it was hurting him. Sheogorath looked at me strangely again. "You don't understand my anguish. You only suffer a lifetime, which, at the most for you, is one hundred and forty-something years! Guess what? I suffer for a damned eternity!" he spat at me. His countenance was mildly perturbed. I stood up, and opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me.

His interrupted was, "Mortals are horrendously oblivious to true sorrow. They pretend everything will be just fine. It's never that way, is it? You know who usually causes such agony? Those who are completely content with their insignificant, pathetic lives." I peered at him with an open mouth, trying to reply but nothing coherent came out. He continued ranting on, "You all think you know every verse and rhyme to melancholy. You mortals are so _foolish_!" He laughed, then continued on, "But most of you never feel what it is like to be completely alone, yes, alone, in the world. None of you comprehend what it is like for the world to mock you at every damned chance it gets. None of you know what it is like for the world to despise your every being."

My eyes looked at him wide. I was baffled. He narrowed his green eyes at me, and turned towards the door. He went through it, laughing deliriously. Did I offend him? He was right: I didn't understand. There was some ugly, hidden truth behind his words. After all, Sheogorath was pretty much the Daedric prince of equivocating. Feeling like it was my fault, I bolted out the door. I ended up back in the hallway. And the poor Great Daedra was nowhere to be seen.


	3. Decadence

This one measily chapter makes this entire fan fiction rated M.

Rated M for: Sadomasochism, sexuality,even more disturbing images,and homosexuality. Please be warned. Do not read this if you are squeamish or offended by any of the listed.

* * *

"Decadence isn't easy/  
Is it?"  
Disturbed, "Decadence"

* * *

Somehow, I ended up in the hallway. I heard a faint, odd sound. It was the soft sound of scratching on the stone floor. I stood there, my ear to the direction of the birthplace of the noise. It was coming from the northern side of the hallway. The sound was increasing in its volume. I could now hear a gurgling noise as I stood there. I continued listening. I could hear a raspy, grotesque sound that was almost like…like crying. I pondered. I thought it was probably Sheogorath.

I began to trot up the hallway, but then I frowned as I was less than a sixteenth of a way down the immensely long hall. There was a squelching noise now, and it was _very_ close. I could see a shadow in a close-by corridor. The source was crawling on its belly like a gigantic, humanoid reptile. The sounds it was making were repugnant. It was a gagging noise that sounded like the source had a mouth full of liquid. It was loud, and very unpleasant. Finally, I got to see the source.

And I wanted to scream. My bladder felt very heavy and hot, blanketed by quivering muscles, tendons, and skin that just had to horripilate. My eyes bulged out of their sockets, and my fingers contorted. It was a defensive stance. The source was Sheogorath…I think. Only dead, and rotten. It was just laying on the ground, crawling in its own coagulated muck. It was fetid. Its neck was visibly broken. A vertebrae was greeting the air, poking out of the putrid flesh of this phantom.

It smelt horrible. Vomit dribbled down its decomposing mouth and to the rotten goateed chin. Its skin was an unreal milky white, accompanied by splotches of black, purple, and very dark red. Coagulated blood now foamed down its gaping mouth to the ground. Its hand was up, raised towards me, like whatever the hell it was, was reaching at me from down the hallway. It was gathering its composure to stand. It was floating in the air as it raised itself from the ground.

There was a slit in its chest. The tattered waistcoat was an ugly brownish-black with blood and decay. The dress-shirt the unSheogorath wore was ripped all over the sleeves, and exposed a plethora of still-bleeding cuts. It looked at me with completely black, eerie eyes, and emitted a growl. It was now floating towards me. I had enough. I screamed and ran down the halls in the opposite direction.

"Stop it!" I yelled and screamed. Hot sparks of tears gushed down my face. I heard booming laughter. I turned left on the corner and nearly stopped in my tracks. Sheogorath was grinning widely, toothily, psychotically. And he was laughing and pointing at me. I dashed up to him, and clutched his waistcoat as much as I could as I kneeled before him. "MAKE IT STOP!" I pleaded shrilly. He just beamed at me. I barked at him, "STOP IT! STOP IT! PLEASE STOP IT!"

The _thing_ was nearing now. I continued pleading for my life and he continued smirking and chortling. I implored him one last time, "PLEASE! _ANYTHING_ FOR YOU, SHEOGORATH! JUST MAKE IT BLOODY **STOP**!" I stopped kneeling, got to my feet, and darted past him. I heard him sniffle. I heard his voice. He was nearly wailing. "Don't run from me!…I didn't intent to frighten you…!…I've been concealing it, Walter, see?" he screeched as I was half-way down the similarly extremely long hallway. My joints complained. My head began to pound excruciatingly. "Argh! My knees… MY HEAD!" I cried as my legs stopped me. I collapsed on my knees, my hands to my head, and everything grew dark and blurry.

_Waaalllllter. Waallllllllllter_. My mind felt horribly fuzzy. I couldn't open my eyes. My thoughts did not even seem to be my own. It was difficult to focus. My head felt like it was spinning. After a good few long moments, things began to focus and make sense. I realized my eyes were open. "Walter," a voice about to sob said so softly. I focused my eyes, and I was looking directly up into the eyes of Sheogorath. They were bloodshot and watering. Abruptly, he embraced my limp body. I had been laying prostrate in his lap. He held me so tight I could hardly breathe. He released me, and gazed into my eyes. He told me, "I'm glad that you are fine. You've been unconscious for a long period of time now." I felt queasy and dizzy as I rolled off him and sat up. He smiled at me.

I realized we were in the room I had found him in. I stood up, and nearly lost my footing. It was a little dark in the room. Sheogorath also stood. Then, he grabbed and pushed me against the eastern wall. I was terrified. But then, he planted a _very_ gentle kiss on my lips. My eyes grew larger. When I did not respond, the pressure on my lips grew harder. I felt my entire body tingle with almost electric energy. I gave in and returned his kiss.

He released me after several lengthy moments. I felt flustered now. I waddled towards the platform and sat down, thinking about why he did that to me. He was in my blind spot now. I wasn't paying much attention to him, until I saw a glimpse of flesh. I tensed up, and swallowed my saliva. "Look at me, Walter," he called me pleadingly. I knew if I looked that I would go mad. Being the curious person I am, I _had_ to look. So, I turned towards him. I nearly jumped up.

He was completely naked, but that did not shock me. What shocked me, was that his testes and penis had pins driven though them. They weren't that far in, and they weren't causing him to bleed. It looked remarkably neat and well-done. His body, underneath all those clothes, was, in a pleasant way, pale and frail-looking. A narrow, long isosceles triangle of ginger hair extended from the middle of his chest to his pubic region, growing a little wider below the navel. It blended in as it traveled down to the crotch, with the equally vibrant pubic hair.

I wanted to cringe at the mutilation. His body deceived his face; his body was relatively youthful. It was very proportional, though his legs were long. He ambled up to me. He was standing right in front of me. "Don't you want to touch me?" he asked me quietly. I looked into his almost glowing eyes. I did want to touch him. I carefully extended my hand to touch him. Shakily, I stroked his slender body, specifically his stomach, which was flat. I couldn't help but grimace as his organ swelled up in arousal. It was amazing that the needles didn't rip the skin.

I must have moved in closer to him. We were so close our chests were touching. I felt his mutilated sex push into my stomach. I was getting uncomfortable and tense. Even in my apprehension, I was fairly sure I was doing the same to him. I kissed his lips, and quivered as he returned it. I took a few steps back, and undid my robe. Sheogorath was brushing his left hand over the pins as he watched me. The robe fell to my feet.

I felt obnoxiously flushed. I watched him closely, and my focus was now directed to his crotch. One by one, he was taking the pins out. He groaned as he slid those wretched pins out of his organs. He only seemed to grow more excited as he did. When every pin was out, tiny drops of blood beaded over the wounds.

He gazed at me, and I knew he meant business. He began rubbing against me and moaned softly. "Stop," I insisted, but he persisted. Both of our bodies were perspiring. The room's ambience was blue, I realized, as he was rubbing against me. He slid against myself faster, and could take it no longer. He emitted a loud sigh. Yet, he was still very fervent. He pushed me against a wall with my back facing him. I knew what he had in mind, and I cringed.

"Please. Don't," I whimpered, wishing I was a woman at that point. He groaned in disappointment. He kissed the side of my neck and squeezed my sweating body. He purred in my ear, and played with my shoulder-length, sweaty light blond hair. He stroked my back and released me. He clothed himself in front of me, and I watched him with fascination. I gathered my own robe and slid my body into it. It was dreadfully…uncomfortable. When I looked up as I tied my robe, I realized he had been watching me as well. I smiled faintly and put my boots on, kneeling down to tie them. He smiled back, though much wider.

And we traveled outside into the hallway, and didn't speak of it much.


	4. A Ray of Heavenly Torture

Whoa. It looks like the angst may come to and end! 

...Or not.

* * *

"One must pay dearly for immorality; one has to die several times while still alive."  
Friedrich Nietzsche _

* * *

_"Now what?" I asked Sheogorath, sighing afterwards. I sighed because I was spent. His face was still flushed from our…encounter. "We continue looking for her," he replied, in a tad bit energetic voice. He grinned at me. The smile exposed his white teeth. That grin was, to be flat honest, insane, but it was just as endearing as it was unsettling. Ah, I wished he wasn't manic right then and there. Well, it would explain why he went after me like a ravenous dog. I didn't mind it, though. He began moving towards another door. Hopefully, the room was not one we had already frequented. 

While he opened the door, I began thinking. Where was Zarrexaij? Could she be found? Of course, Sheogorath entered without me, but did not close the door until I came inside. When I did step inside the foreign room, he shut the door. The room I had entered was bright with heavenly light. There was a white bed opposite of us. It was a small room, almost like a bedroom, or a jail cell. There was window from which the white light was begat. Was this the light of hope? Was this the light of heaven? "It seems that the angel is here," he commented, quite moved by the window. I didn't quite understand it. It was just a silly, out of place window. Then again, Sheogorath knew more than I did. I didn't dare ask what he meant.

He fingered the white covers of the bed. He gasped. I raised an eyebrow at him. "'Tis silk," Sheogorath remarked, "just like her covers." He was ecstatic about the discovery. I couldn't fathom a Daedroth having a bed, though. "What?" I asked. He turned towards me and informed me, "Zarrexaij was more than a Daedroth. Walter, she was my companion. She was my heaven, and my hell. Zarrexaij was quite mortal, you see?" He seemed to be just raving on. I almost tuned him out, but when he frowned, I knew not to. He was keen on my body language. There was nothing insane in what he was telling me, I realized. "Love is such a damn wretched thing. It can make the sane man insane. Yet, it could not undo my curse," he sighed, gazing at me with horrendously acrid eyes.

"Tell me. What do you mean?" I questioned. I was very perplexed by his speech. His entire pattern of conversation had changed dramatically. He wasn't making much sense. He exhaled abruptly before he replied, "It would be better to show you. Take an oath to never repeat." I stared at him with curiosity. "I take an oath then; I shan't repeat what I saw in words, or in images," I vowed to him. Now, I obviously did not stick to his well, as I am telling you what I saw, but that isn't relevant. Sheogorath was full of secrets, and I wanted to hear, well, see every one of them.

"Take my hands, since you wish to know," he implored me, holding both of them out, palm up. I looked at them, then looked at his eyes. He wished me no harm. Nonetheless, I was terrified of the consequences. The gleam in his emerald eyes became urgent. I gazed into his eyes as I laid my hands palm down on his. He tangled my fingers with his. They were longer than mine, naturally. His eyes changed color, and suddenly, my hands began smarting. The pain shot up my arms slowly. It traveled up and down my torso at the same time. I gritted my teeth and did not cry out. My eyesight blackened, albeit only for a moment.

I opened my eyes that were surging with pain. I was inside of Sheogorath's memories. I was inside his mind. I already wanted out. It was very claustrophobic, and dark, yet bright at the same time. I know, that's an oxymoron. Everything seemed much different from my perception. The walls were blackened, and the light emanating from the windows was glowing. I saw myself as shell in front of him. I wanted to shudder, but I couldn't. I no longer had form. This horrified me.

_Panic not, my dearest Walter_ his mind echoed. I felt his mind reach out to me, and I felt my mind shudder with the cold. The voice was ethereal. I felt his mind probing my own. I relaxed, and felt my mind sweep away as he prepared to show me his shadow. He, or rather, his mind began telling me, and showing me what was going on. He started first in darkness. _Even I once feared the darkness,_ he narrated, _I still loathe it, to be sincere_. I wanted to nod. I wasn't used to _this_ yet. I don't think he was, either.

_Solitude often causes it_, he told my bodiless mind. It was a soft, soothing thought. Sheogorath then specified what he was talking about. _Madness may have many sources_, he stated in a sullen mind-voice. The mental image was now somewhere in space, him holding me close. He gazed down at my shell. He continued his monologue, _It all depends on your beliefs. I suppose what happened is wrong. It does not matter much at all. Acceptance is irrelevant. Now, enough blather about that. I'll start from my literal birth. I'm Sithis' bastard child. Or, that is how I am labeled. Don't really know my origins. Don't really have a name, either. All I've is a protonymic_. He paused. The mental picture changed again. He was showing me a lush forest. If I had eardrums right now, they would be shattered. My ears were filled with shrill crying. I began to wonder if this was metaphorical, or literal.

My mind's eyes caught the sight of a baby, left alone at the base of a trunk of a tree. It was wrapped up snug in a blanket. Not but an eyesight's length away was an old man, festooned in a gray robe and sandals, walking in the forest. The crying had stopped for a while. He was jumping on the roots of the giant trees. His eyes were a light, milky gray. He wasn't that tall, but he couldn't be elven. I assumed he was Atmoran. The crying started again as he neared the trunk. He stopped to look around. He caught sight of the baby and picked it up. "What kind of parent leaves an innocent babe out here, alone?" the old man asked no one in particular. He began to shuffle off, back into the direction he came from.

_Okay. What does that mean_? I interrogated him. I was clueless. His mind-voice replied, _Just be patient and you will see_. Things began to blur by. We were now in a small village. There was a well in the center of a village. Most of the houses were very small. The rich part of the village lived atop a hill not far at all from the main path. There weren't more than a thousand adults in this village. The old man gained quite a crowd as he brought in the abandoned infant. A man in crude chitin armor came striding up to him proudly from atop the hill.

"Tell me elder, where did you find him?" he asked the old man. The man in armor was probably the lord of the village. The old man replied, "I found him in the forest. His parents were no where to be seen." The man in crude armor was offered to hold the child. He took off the blanket and looked at the babe. "I've never quite seen a child like this around these parts. His skin says Nedic, but his hair says elf," he remarked in awe.

The child had remarkably pale skin. Its eyes were a soul-burning green, and its hair was bright and reddish. It was a male child. I knew what this meant and attempted to withdraw my thoughts from Sheogorath. _Perhaps the Psijic Order is right: the gods are merely strong ancestral spirits_, I thought. The man in armor sighed, "Give him to a willing couple of nobles. The peasants have enough grubby children." The old man look at the lord and said, "I could take care of him." The lord raised an eyebrow, but said nothing negative of it. "Then as it shall be," he replied, carefully giving the old man back the child.

The old man gazed at the orphan, and everything grew blurry again. Quite an amount of time had elapsed. It was during the morning. The same child I was shown was here now, only as a ten, maybe eleven years old. He was quite the shadow of what he would become. Unlike other children, who would play on the dirty streets, he was in a corner, practicing magic. The young "Sithis's bastard child" was sweet, almost innocent-looking as he sat, hidden by a few shrubs as he was the day his parent found him. His clothing wasn't very grand: they were simple gray rags, probably hand-me-downs. He was quite small. The young shadow of Sheogorath had glowing eyes. There was an adult fist-sized rock floating mid-air in front of him.

The peace was interrupted. A group of taller children were walking down the main path. The tallest, a mean-looking, spoiled boy, was kicking a wooden pail. Incidentally, it was kicked into the bushes and hit the small boy. The group of brats gave him a disdainful look as they climbed through the bushes. The leader grinned widely. The mental image faded out into oblivion, but I could hear animalistic screaming stemming from injury and fright. I began to understand what he said earlier. That's _one of the reasons why he feels the world betrayed him, because he was a pariah from day one,_ I contemplated. Maybe there was a rhyme and reason to Sheogorath.

Maybe there was a _why_ to Sheogorath.


	5. Iniquity

Mwahaha. ANGST! Beautiful angst!

* * *

"Death is not the worst that can happen to man."  
Plato, _Laws_

* * *

My mind's eyes were taken back into inside the room. Sheogorath was slowly letting me go for his own particular reasons. I felt my mind and thoughts slide. I felt his touch on my mind loosen. Finally, my mind became my own again. He had me in his gentle embrace. I looked up into his eyes. He was staring back down at me. His facial expression went from being sharp to gentle and soft. "I have more to show, but not here. There is… something else that I have. Let us make haste about it now," he informed me warmly. After being inside his head, although as short it was, I felt horribly cold, both literally and figuratively. I felt frigid from the inside out. I began shivering as he ushered me out the room.

He was leading me down the hallway. His pace was quite quickened. I followed him with not much ease. Why was he in such a hurry? We turned a left corner, and he opened a door for me. He slid inside first. I ambled in afterwards, not knowing what to expect. The room was impossibly large and well-lit. There was a pool in the center of the room. The pool was not filled up very much, or it was very deep, because I could see no water. The walls were beige. Sheogorath squeezed my shoulder. "No, Walter, please do not go yet," he begged of me in a feeble voice. I turned towards him, and interrogated, "Why?" He sighed, and lowered his head. My countenance was tense and frosty. "Better not for me to speak it," he replied to me with an ashamed tone in his soft voice.

What happened next caught me by surprise. My eyes grew wide in terror. Sheogorath pushed me forcefully, though obviously reluctantly, into the arena. My back splashed painfully against water. I couldn't screamed, but I wanted to. I was far too shocked to do much of anything. He went to the side I was nearest to and forced my head under. I could take no more. My arms flailed futilely. I clawed at his hands, trying to pry them from my head, with no avail. How…how did he know? Under the crystalline water, I screamed, but was not heard. I wanted to cry. My air was being depleted very quickly in my panic, and this only frightened me more.

It seemed like this went on for several minutes. Right when I felt like I was slipping out of consciousness, he pulled me up. I gasped for air. I was laying, dazed, on firm ground. I coughed for several minutes, while Sheogorath stared at me. He was sitting cross-legged, with such an awful look in his eyes. His expression was bewildered and apologetic. When I came to my senses, I glared at him. "What the hell, Sheogorath?" I asked petulantly. I crawled onto my haunches to sit in front of him. I was close enough to kiss him, and that was hardly what I had in mind. I wanted to punch him, but at the same time I wanted to break down and sob. Sheogorath poignantly aimed his gaze into my eyes.

"Sorry, but I had to, Walter. Please understand why I did it," he replied in a dismal voice, "I did not mean you any harm. I had good intentions for it. I want you to understand pain. Deception can be so cruel, eh? You think you are impregnable. But, that illusion was killed. Oh, how so easily it is!" I expected him to laugh insanely, but he didn't. His complexion looked as if it had turned ashy. His face had paled a bit. I wanted to look away, because his skin was so pasty now that he looked like a corpse. His lips were the only color in his face. They were a gaudy rose pink.

I sighed, and looked into his vibrant eyes. Sheogorath looked on the verge of either stomping out of the room, crying, or destroying everything around him. I embraced him, and looked at the environment behind him. The room was tall was well as wide and long. Above the door was something…odd. A body was pinned to the wall, and its blood was dripping onto the floor. The body was naked, except for a loincloth, and its head was facing downwards. Now, I wouldn't let Sheogorath go for my life, but my instincts were firmly urging me to. As if the body could hear my thoughts, it raised its head. The face was skinless. Its horrendous eyes stared at me coldly. They were a blank, yet vivid, green. The body emitted a weak voice, "Help me." Sheogorath took notice to my awe. "What is the damn bother about?" he asked me in such a sad voice. I shook my head, and let him go so I could look into his eyes. "There's a body up there," I said, indicating above the door. Sheogorath looked over there for a brief second, then looked back at me. He replied to me in an exasperated voice, "Is this a joke, because there's naught?" My expression dropped from awe to plain disbelief. I wouldn't argue.

I scowled. He did as well, and I leaned towards him. I touched his face and found it to be very cold. I held and squeezed his hands. My body began tingling with excitement. My reactions were getting stranger and stranger to me, but they were right. I kissed his lips. "Please," I pleaded, "show me more." Sheogorath nodded gracefully. He looked into my eyes and painfully returned me into the shelter of his head.

The room through his eyes was not the same as my perception. There was no body nailed to the wall. The walls were very black and decayed. There were even some parts on the wall that looked like writhing flesh. The images began to blur. I was shown his memories again. He was starting from a later age. I'd say it was in his former life's mid to late adolescence. Wow. He was really beginning to resemble what he would look like as an adult. He was quite tall, almost his full-grown height. The young man was starting to grow tufts of facial hair. He was standing in a field, wearing a drab blue robe. Off to his side in his hands was a book. It was broad daylight, and that made his hair very fiery. He sat down in the grass, and began reading.

He extended one of his arms and propped it up on one of his knees. That hand opened, and a flame had appeared in the middle of it. The young Sheogorath was concentrating very hard on his book. The flame grew slightly larger. Its intensity increased. The fire turned a bright blue, and then began to take on a purple tint. A boy of similar age, though smaller and brunette, was moving in towards him. This took Sheogorath's attention away from the book and his magic. The flame vanished, and Sheogorath looked very peeved about that. "What do you want?" he asked in a brooding voice. The boy, not standing too far from him, answered.

"Your father…" the boy began to inform Sheogorath, but hesitated. Sheogorath's countenance firmed into displeasure. "Go on," he growled at him, not at all pleased that his attention was being taken away from his precious magic. The boy looked terrified. "Sheogorath, your father… your father was killed today," he said. His brown eyes were wide. Sheogorath's green eyes widened. He replied, "You can't be serious." He looked damned perturbed. The boy sighed, and indicated he wanted Sheogorath to follow him. "Here," he declared jadedly to Sheogorath, "follow me."

Sheogorath followed him into the village. There was a big congregation in the middle of the street. The boy let Sheogorath go his own way. The living Sheogorath stomped through the crowd to see what was going on.

In the middle of the crowd, was his old adoptive father. A knife had been plunged deeply into his chest. The gray robe the dead man wore was stained heavily with blood. Sheogorath's mouth was wide open, as were his eyes. One of the lord's men laid a hand on his shoulder. "The man who killed him is in custody," the guard informed him sympathetically. Sheogorath nodded. He looked lugubrious, and his features seemed to darken. Then, the image faded out.

We came into the young Sheogorath laying down at home, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were full of tears. "Why?" the now very pained Sheogorath asked, "What did I do?" He turned and laid on his side. He began sobbing loudly, alone. His blue robe was dirtied. _I had to bury him myself_, Sheogorath's mind-voice told me forlornly, _No one at all would dare help me_. If I had my face, I would have frowned. My own mind-voice replied, _That's not right._ _It isn't, is it now, my dear?_ he replied. His question wasn't meant to be answered, but I knew the answer.

There was nothing _right_ in the way he was treated. It was an iniquity! I couldn't believe it. Sheogorath called himself a social injustice, yet the treatment he received _was_ the true social injustice. He was blaming this all on himself. I've heard that frequently victims of large crimes do this to themselves. I guess it makes sense. The only way he could justify it in his mind was if he was at fault. He wanted things to happen for a reason, that's all.

No, there was nothing right in it; the dead should have buried the dead.


	6. A Light of Blood and Rust

* * *

"And if you don't believe/  
The sun will rise/  
Stand alone and greet/  
The coming night/  
In the last remaining light/"  
Audioslave, "The Last Remaning Light"

* * *

He did not pull me from his mind this time. Sheogorath's mind was clasping tight onto mine. At some points it was very uncomfortable. Sometimes I wanted to pull away, but under his superb mind I was powerless. As I said, it was claustrophobic inside his expansive psyche. The image had faded out again. We were looking at us again. He was so pallid. He had embraced my shell body, and rested his head in my chest. I heard him sigh. I don't think he was done quite yet. 

_Of course I'm not done yet, Walter_, his mind-voice told me in a morose voice. The image in his mind blurred out. We were back into his past, what ever it was. We were back in his late teens, in his house. He was standing, and dressed in a similar robe, only this one a forest green. He was standing around while a few people around him bustled. The young former Sheogorath looked confused and overwhelmed. In the commotion, one of the people, a man at least a head shorter than him, trotted up to him.

"I suppose you are lucky you were his apprentice. He wanted his apprentice to have his belongings after he died, and that apprentice is you," said a man in very fine clothing. His hair was neatly cut and a shining brown. He was fairly young, and definitely one of the noble members of society. Sheogorath looked at him suspiciously, and interrogated, "Everything?" The noble chuckled at the younger man's disbelief. "Everything, including the house, his book collection, his service business, and even the clothes he hasn't thrown out," the noble replied. He was looking up at Sheogorath and grinning. It wasn't a sly grin at all. Sheogorath's expression was very thunderstruck.

After the obnoxious strangers had left what house was not his, Sheogorath laid in his old bed, gazing up at the wooden ceiling blankly. He was beneath the warm fur covers in his green robe. He looked like he was thinking about the whole ordeal. I wanted to reach out into the past and touch him. I had the distinct impression that he was a loner anyways. He seemed to be destined to be alone. The banker had been born alone, after all.

Alone. The former Sheogorath sat up in bed. He sat on the side of the bed and stood up. Then, he ambled out of the room and into the cold room of his dead master/father. The room's air felt empty and still to him, I could tell. He looked around the room. There was a large single-person bed at the northern end. There was a blue rug on the floor. He had a large wardrobe, a dresser drawer, and a bookshelf full of books, too, not to mention various baskets and chests. The wardrobe was closest the Sheogorath on the south-eastern wall, with the dresser drawer in the corner of the south-western wall. The bookshelf was on the western wall. He walked over to the wardrobe and opened it, and sighed.

"Well, I should have expected this: none of the clothes will fit me. Guess I'll have to go in the village," he mumbled to himself. He gathered the various old robes and folded them neatly. Then, he rummaged among the furniture of the room. He took a few large, empty grain sacks out of a chest next to the wardrobe. The robes were taken out of the closet and folded neatly. After that, he placed them in the sacks, slung them over the shoulder, and started his way out of the house.

When he was outside, I noticed that the house he lived in was a little ways outside the village. It was atop the hill the nobles live on. However, it was in the large, lush forest of the land. He jogged a good few lengths into the villa section of the village. Sheogorath got quite a few strange looks as he sprinted into the more business-oriented area of the village. He was panting when he reached an inviting house. I inferred that it was the tailor's housing. When he stepped inside, he was welcome quite warmly for being an outcast.

"Why hello there, lad. I haven't see ye around here for a while," a rough, voice greeted the adolescent. Sheogorath was inside a lantern and candle-lit home. The den was made into sewing room, with a loom and stool, a shelf stocked with sewing supplies and material, and a counter. There was a tallish, slender pale man behind the counter. He had very dark hair and gray eyes. He had a menacing presence, though he seemed to be friendly enough. Sheogorath placed the full sacks of clothes on the counter.

The tailor looked at Sheogorath funny. I wanted to chuckle at that very unique glance the man gave him. "Lot'sa clothes there," he commented, "Must mean you want me to make you some." The tailor laughed, and smiled at the young customer. The tailor took out a robe and looked at it. He then spared a glance at Sheogorath, and frowned. There was quite a difference between that robe, and Sheogorath's in size.

"Weell," the man said in his dialect, "I've forgotten how tall you are. Good thing you're about out of the age to be growing. You'll probably grow about an inch or two, and then you'll stop." He opened the counter hutch, and slid through it. I watched him throw Sheogorath's mind-eyes as he took out a measuring device and did the measurements of the young man. The teenaged man sighed as the tailor did this tedious task. He looked very bored. Finally, when the man was done after a few long moments, the tailor said something.

"I'll give the robes a few extra inches to grow in. You'll have to wear boots with them for now. Since the robes you are trading in are excellent quality, I'll do the robes and make you boots with no charge. Just between you and me, of course. Come back in about a week or so to check up on the progress," the tailor told him. Sheogorath nodded, and left the robes as he headed outside. I wondered myself why Sheogorath showed me this memory, but it was somehow important to him. _Buying new clothing was a start,_ he informed me affectionately.

I felt his mind brush over mine, and my mind went cold again. It was an awful feeling, to have your mind go numb as it is abraded by another mind, especially one sharper than your own. The image in his mind blurred out once more, and he returned to the sight of him holding me. His embrace on my mind loosened, and I returned to my reality once more. I gasped, and felt Sheogorath's cold hands clutching mine. "May we go back to the room? The one with the bed?" I asked while shivering. I started to become cold myself. He looked into my blue-green eyes.

"We can now go back, I suppose," he replied to me gleefully. He didn't seem to like this dull room much himself. We walked out of the room together clutching each other as our teeth chattered. The room's temperature had dropped, and I was happy to get out of there. The hallway had changed again. The walls didn't change… but the floor did. It was starting to turn black itself, and there was a trail of blood to the door that concealed the room with the bed. Sheogorath stepped in front of me, and investigated.

He opened the door slowly. It creaked as it crept open patiently. He stepped inside, and looked panicked. I entered the room myself, and found my hairs raised. The trail of blood led up to the bed. On this bed, there was a track of a purple-black, stinking goop. I gazed at Sheogorath, who was looking a vampiric pale. The window's light was no longer a white. It was a bold rust. The Daedric Prince looked out it. We both heard a voice as he gazed out of it.

_Sheogorath_, this soft, young voice whispered. It send my spine curling and crawling in fear. My Daedric companion returned to looking aloof, yet sad. I recognized the voice, and I think he did, too. It was Zarrexaij, and that was depressing him. "Walter, Zarrexaij can't be here. This place cannot hold her captive," he muttered to me in a low, hapless voice. His eyes dulled significantly. I scooted up towards him, and told him, "You don't know that. Don't give up hope now. We've gotten this far together. You know what? I think this place is just a giant puzzle. It wants us to solve it." He gazed at me skeptically.

"This place is naught but a nightmare," he said coldly, "I have given up hope in heart. Walter, I am terribly spent." I'll admit that; he did look tired. I never saw him that tired throughout our journey together. He wanted out of it, and so did I. I tired of the infinite symbolism myself. "Carry on for me," I begged the Daedric Prince, whose eyes looked lifeless. He was staring out the window blankly. Sheogorath looked incredibly lost in thought. I couldn't blame him. "I never, ever meant to hurt her," he said to me frostily. I knew he meant it, too.

Now, what was so horrible that happened to him that he wouldn't tell me quickly? I wanted to damn it to Molag Bal. I did not understand, and I had been trying very hard to empathize. I no longer wanted to blame it on his insanity; he wasn't all the insane, as I had learned. At this point, it seemed that he was the sane one, and I was the one who was barking mad. He knew something I didn't, and he wouldn't tell until he absolutely _had_ to. Bless his metaphorical heart.

I guess we all hold secrets, but some secrets are deeper and darker than others.


	7. Ice

This took forever to figure how to upload this. Kept on erroring/timing out on me when I was uploading this so I just copied and pasted.

* * *

"Tried to give you summer, but I'm winter/"  
Alien Ant Farm, "Summer"

* * *

Sheogorath's countenance told me that he no longer wished to remain in this dreadful room. I didn't want to, either. I tugged on his right sleeve. He turned his head towards me, and gazed at me pensively. I took a look out the window birthing blood red light. For me, there was nothing but the image of uneasy void. I supposed this was much different from what he was seeing, because he was quite entranced. Horrified, almost. I said to him quietly, "Let's go. I don't want to be in this room any longer. It gives me the chills". He nodded, saying nothing as he took me outside in the hallway.

He led me to a door beside the room with the pool and the ghost he did not see. The hallway had not changed since last time. The door he was standing in front of was a bright red wood that I did not recognize. The knob of it was gold, and he opened it slowly like he usually did, savoring the sweet sound of it not squeaking. I jumped at the occasion to take the first peek inside. "Please be careful in there, _Walter_," Sheogorath bid me in a concerned, almost caustic voice. I was indifferent to his remark, and took a few steps inside.

Its appearance was friendly enough. The room had several lit candles in it, a clean wooden floor, a large, reddish brown rug center on the floor, a lit hearth, a large, two-person bed at the northern end, a wardrobe on the south-eastern end, and a bookshelf on the western end. It reminded me faintly of the former room of the long-dead father. I ambled towards the fireplace and held my palms out vertically close to it. I felt much warmer. I heard Sheogorath stride over to me.

"This room appears as my room did," he remarked matter-of-factly in his soft, nostalgic voice. I gazed up at him. He was slightly bent over, his hands on his knees, looking at me. His green eyes were so fervently pained. I leaned on his legs a bit. "So his room became yours?" I asked him politely. I tried not to sound so disinterested. He nodded despondently. He looked increasingly tired. He sat down beside me, and slumped over. His eyes were held low, as was his head. It was my turn to do something. I, yes, as paradoxically as it seems, _carefully_ pushed him over, and crawled onto him. I kissed his lips and neck, hoping for just a _tiny_ response, and none came. His eyes had a glazed-over appearance, and he was staring at the ceiling. I despaired.

"I wanted you to be fire for me again," I whispered in his ear softly, "but you are as cold as ice." He turned his head slightly towards me, and gave me a horrid gaze. It was a lachrymose sort of glance, one so painful you can hardly look at it without going into tears. Now, I didn't wish for him to be sad. I sat up on him, and my eyes were on his. "Has your soul gone cold, Sheogorath? What makes it so hard to shake you?" I asked him. I had been overtaken by passion. Damn it, I wanted him to be happy. But I thought at this point that it was futile, moot, insignificant, useless, hapless!

The gleam in his eyes had changed, though only slightly. He looked damned feverish. "Walter," he said in a low voice that hardly carried to me, "the world has made me cool." I took his hands, and glared at him. "You will show me more, as you have promised," I demanded. He didn't protest, but he wasn't pleased. I felt his mind grasp mine, and ignored the pain as my body became mindless again. It was a traumatic experience, yes, but by now I was desensitized. Yes, it was disorienting to be in someone else's head. Yes, it was disorienting to have no palpable grasp on the world. But third time is the charm.

The image this time was the adolescent Sheogorath in new, much finer clothing. He had been approached by shorter humanoid beings, all festooned in hooded gray robes. From their stances, I took it that they were young. I heard their androgynous voices, and wanted to shudder. If I had a spine then, it would have curled.

"You are the 'heir' of the late master Tyrius, correct?" one of the hooded figures asked, which one I'm not entirely sure. It was a snake-like voice, full of hisses, though it was not ominous as much as it was creepy. Sheogorath looked at the individual with a cocked head, and then answered, "Yes, stranger, but why do you ask?" His eyes were squinted in the bright light of the afternoon. One of the hooded figures took off the hood. It revealed an elven-looking male, with narrow, slightly slanted golden eyes. His skin was olive, and his pulled-back hair was a similar fiery red. "We are the few local members of the guild he was a member of," he replied calmly. The mer had a pretentious noble appearance.

"Come with me, and _we_ can talk somewhere else. Somewhere with more privacy," the elf whispered to Sheogorath. Sheogorath cleared his throat gruffly, and let the small group lead him into a building he had never been inside of before. It wasn't that large, but it was large enough to occupy the group and himself. It was barren, except for a large table and chairs. They began to sit down. It looked almost synchronized, because everyone, except Sheogorath, sat at the same time. Sheogorath sat shortly after them.

"As you may know, according to traditional inheritance of services, you are a master," the elf said while running a hand through the tail of his hair. He continued projecting, "However, because, in this guild, you are much too young to be a proper master, we cannot allow you to have an apprentice quite yet. But, the older members can train you as such." Sheogorath nodded his head. His countenance was somewhat perplexed. "Now, tell me," the young, then-mortal asked, "what is this 'guild?'" The members were silent as the apparently older, and much more experienced elf answered his question.

"We don't have quite a name for it, you see. But, we are for the intellectuals interested in the arcane art: magic," he responded loudly. Sheogorath looked a tad bit bored as he tapped his short fingernails on the wooden table. He perked up slightly when the elf had mentioned "magic". The members' gazes were on the taller, not quite inducted Sheogorath. He was sitting completely up now, and such made them nervous. "So. I'm assuming there are such rules and regulations to such an exclusive guild?" he interrogated the members curiously.

The elf answered him, "Of course. We value a structured environment. Our most basic rules, that anyone should be able to follow, is to not steal from other members, or kill. You are expected to do duties for the guild and study diligently. There are various other rules, but they don't apply to you right now." Sheogorath remained silent for a brief moment. "I understand," he spoke as loudly as he could, though it came out slightly broken. The hooded members began to chat amongst themselves for a few minutes. The elven member broke the silence with, "Since that is settled, we can officially consider you a member."

The members began standing up and stretching. "Am I dismissed now?" Sheogorath questioned the elf. The elf had stood up, and too was stretching a bit. He yawned, and passed Sheogorath a glance. "Yes, yes, of course," he replied with a gesticulating dismissal. The newly-inducted sighed, and began heading out of the building. He was mostly unnoticed as he left. The members were busy chatting with themselves, and the elf was observing his peers.

The memory of himself was walking home. As he did, he was talking to himself about now actually having responsibilities. He didn't seem very phased about it. In fact, he was grinning widely. He seemed so full of hope, radiant with life, that it become hard to believe that in his after "life" he would be a miserable individual. But I guess Sheogorath had his ups and downs, but they were the most extreme. As I was pondering, the image of the adolescent man had reached the house, and entered. It had also begun to darken, and blur.

He did not shake me from his grasp. Oh no. He showed me more in his past. But this was quite different. The image was focused in what appeared to be a large classroom, with the western wall black, and full of chairs organized by rows and columns. The image focused on a man talking to what was probably Sheogorath. It certainly looked like Sheogorath, but it was much different from what I expect the adult Sheogorath to look like. He was as tall as he is now. He still had red hair, he still had a finely-groomed goatee, and he still had green eyes. His red hair was long, probably longer than mine. Sheogorath looked to be in his autumn years, at least in his early forties. He was wearing a brightly-dyed, fine maroon robe. His aura was still aristocratic, bright, and erudite.

The image ingrained itself into my mind. Now, I reminded myself: Sheogorath had been a pariah since birth, never well liked, and, something more recently, lost Zarrexaij. I still wondered what made his transition from having a little bit of hope to none at all.


	8. A Girl of Golden Skin

* * *

"Hell is other people."  
Jean-Paul Sarte

* * *

I was still in Sheogorath's vision of his memories. The long-haired Sheogorath looked at the man he was talking to, who was quite visibly human. This man had thick, short dark brown hair, a scruffy brown goatee, and cunning pale hazel eyes. "Sheogorath," said he in a gruff voice, "What do you plan on doing about this? You just ran out your latest apprentice with your damned temper." Sheogorath scoffed, and folded his arms. He shifted his weight onto his left food. He scowled a little, and looked hardly pleased by the confrontation. "Well. I'll get a new apprentice that has a _spine_," he answered in an irritated voice. His grumpy expression definitely made him look his age. The man lifted a furry eyebrow and responded, "The council won't be particularly pleased with you. Do you have anyone in mind?"

Sheogorath sighed, and grimaced. I watched his uneasiness. His position tensed up, though his arms were now to his sides. "Not at the moment, no," he replied with regret in his voice. He rubbed the back of his head, which ruffled the long hair he possessed. He looked quite tired in the lighting of the room. The man stared at Sheogorath, and shook his head. "Oh, Sheogorath," he sighed, "you are incorrigible. Well, I've heard there's a youthful, potential magician you might be interested in. However, there is something I should mention about them." The older mage Sheogorath cocked his head and his slender eyebrows. He interrogated, "And who might this be? What's the condition?"

"Well," the man replied, though hesitantly, and stumbled on a few words, "uhh, well, this youth, I'm not certain about her name, is, well, female. There's not exactly many female apprentices in many crafts and such, so it's bound to be a controversy. Maybe even a disgrace." Sheogorath looked at him with a bemused, almost offended expression. "I don't understand why you don't think I wouldn't take the challenge. Besides, I've already made asses out of the council. I doubt I could do more damage than I have already done," he retorted in an insulted voice. He brushed his hands off, as if to clean them off of some sin. The man then informed him, "There's a local year's end celebration in eight days. I'm pretty certain you'll be able to meet her there. I've heard she's not only very bright, but very pleasant to the eyes. You know what I mean?" The man's voice turned almost husky in mid-sentence. His companion looked annoyed.

"Terence," Sheogorath riposted, "_I'm_ probably twice her age. I'm much too old and too dedicated to my studies to be…interested. Besides, it's unprofessional to get romantically involved with an apprentice." He chewed on his fingernails a bit as Terence lifted both his eyebrows, as in surprise. Terence remained silent, but I had the idea of what he was thinking. Sheogorath idly began toying with his hair, running his hands through it. He seemed a bit nervous about the topic. There was an awkward silence between the two for quite some time. Finally, Terence spoke up, "Well, I suppose I'll see you at the gathering." Then Terence left.

When Terence had exited the room, Sheogorath exhaled, letting out a "phew" noise. "Enough bloody pressure for one day," he mumbled to himself contemptuously. He ambled out of the room, and into the den of what appeared to be his house. He then went into his bedroom, and lay down on the covers. "It's amazing how public interest has turned away from my…problems to my sexuality," he remarked to himself. His apostrophe was quite ironic, as I learned later. But I shan't tell you that until it comes up.

Sheogorath took off the boots he was wearing, which were leather and black, and laid then aside his bed. He then slipped his body under the covers, and curled up in a fetal position. "People," he mumbled in a low voice, "are such trouble. Nuisances. Yet, I dare to bother with them." He closed his eyes, and his breathing rate slowed. The vision of him blacked out, and reopened to Sheogorath, sitting on a rock, reading in front of a great gathering of people in a temple without walls.

Indeed, it seemed as if it had been eight days. _Oh, it certainly most had been eight,_ Sheogorath told me in his eerie, echoing mind-voice that made my mind cold and numb. The Sheogorath I had seen in his memory was dressed in quite a fine black robe. It had gold embroidery, and lace around the collar. He looked quite pale, sitting cross-legged, reading in the moonlight, with his red-blond hair half-covered his face in curly ends. He was quite close to the forest surrounding the village-turned-city. It was a thesis over magicka, where it originated from, and how it is obtained. He had heard some noise. He perked up his head, and listened.

Sheogorath's mind-eye's focused on two people talking a few good strides away. It was Terence in a blue dress robe and some tallish, seventeen to nineteen year old girl, who was dressed in similarly fancy gray robe. She appeared to have shoulder blade length, flowing bright brown-burgundy hair. She had pointy eyes, and skin that was tinted a slight gold, at least as what I could tell in the light of the temple's lanterns and candles and the light of the moons. Her cheekbones were high. She had a noble aura about her. They were enjoying their conversation, because both were smiling and laughing. The lady turned her head towards Sheogorath, and pointed at him.

"Who's that over there?" she asked Terence in a sweet, soft voice. Terence grinned at her. The girl pushed the long bangs behind her ears. Terence suggested, "That's the master I told you about who needs a new apprentice. 'Is name is Sheogorath. Why don't you get to know him?" He winked his sharp eyes at her. She nodded, and smiled. "Guess I'll do that then," she said before heading off towards the lone mage.

The focus returned to Sheogorath, who was still reading. He didn't notice as she approached him from his front. She smiled as she spoke to him, "Hello." Sheogorath jumped slightly on his rock. He looked up, distraught with surprise. He then saw the young lady, and looked at her with wide green eyes. "Hullo," he replied in a low, quiet voice. He shut his book, and looked up at her. Had he never been approached by a female before? Sheogorath looked a trifle nervous.

"I'm the girl you've been hearing about," she declared matter-of-factly. Sheogorath nodded. His gaze was fixated upon her. It was almost if he was entranced with her. He continued ogling at her as she sat beside him and looked down at the book he was holding. "Oh, I've read that!" she exclaimed, visibly excited by her discovery, "I think it makes complete sense, though many of the council you belong to have marked it as bunk." Sheogorath looked into her eyes, which were a peculiar blue. He replied, "The council is full of fools, but I suppose most of the ones who deny it are merely pseudo-intellectuals with only regurgitated talent. I suppose I am special for being both blessed and cursed with a natural-born talent for the arcane arts, which leads to my shared belief with the author that magicka is something you are born with, but seldom harness without education."

"So I've heard," she stated warmly. She smiled widely at him. Sheogorath smiled, though faintly, back. "Don't believe all that they have said about me. I'm not quite a wretch as many say I am, though I am a bit warm-spirited," he told her as a bit of a warning. She nodded in understanding. The potential apprentice touched his left arm, which made Sheogorath turn a little rosy. "Don't worry," she told him in an amiable tone, "I seldom believe any gossip about someone. You don't seem like the demon the council has described you as. You know, I do like you." The magician tensed up, and turned a brighter shade of red. "I…I…I…I…like you too, I suppose," he replied quiescently. His companion grinned.

"Well, Sheogorath, when would you like to interview me for the apprenticeship?" she interrogated him. She shifted closer to him, although she had no flirtatious intentions as I understood it. The look in her eyes was platonic. Sheogorath remained silent for a few moments. It appeared that there were several things running through his mind, as his brow was furrowed. Then, he answered calmly, although I could tell he was thoroughly enthused, "You shall meet me in two days. It'll be at the big house in the woods not too far from the old rich section." The girl beamed.

"I'll meet you there in two days, then, around afternoon," she informed him politely. She stood up, and curtseyed. Sheogorath stood up to bow to her. She gazed at him in amazement. Her eyes were huge. "I didn't realize you were so _tall_," she commented. Indeed, I realized that she was a little more than a head shorter than him. Sheogorath looked down at her, and chortled. He then bowed. The girl, after watching him bow, turned around. "Wait!" he shouted, "I didn't catch your name!" She turned back towards him, and softly replied, with an angelic smile, "My name is Zarrexaij Alighieri."

So, he had known Zarrexaij since his past life…


	9. Masque

You know how Sheogorath likes dancing.

* * *

"When it's all doom n dark outside and only you inside to first make a light n then tend it, you have to be a bitch."  
Stephen King, _Dolores Claiborne

* * *

_  
I found myself spun out of Sheogorath's keen mind. I was still sitting atop him, and he was staring back at me with his vibrantly hued eyes. He opened his mouth. His lips were such a lively pink, yet his face was so deathly pale. "I shall not be burning fire. I am of a different sort. That cannot kill my desire. You're th' one wish to consort," was his delayed response. I cocked my head down at him. I asked him in a mock-confrontational tone, "What _are_ you then?" He simply smiled at me. It was a painfully jaded and cynical grin. I kissed his lips. He did not respond. The color did, however, return to his pallor. "Walter, it'd be better to show. Sometimes words cannot say enough. Words aren't sufficient to know it." he replied. I slid off him and gazed at him with hope. 

He stood up and brushed himself off. He stood up straight, sophisticated, and proud. Sheogorath stepped towards me and offered me his surprisingly delicate, slender hands. I stared at them suspiciously. He began to look impatient. "Don't just stare at my hands all day," Sheogorath insisted fervently, "Let us two dance the world away." I took the hands he offered, keeping his capriciousness in mind as I did. I wouldn't dare bite it. His eyes no longer had a blank stare, but reflected concentration in thought. He started leading me through an odd but elegant dance. His green eyes were narrowed, though not out of anger. He looked so pensive. The lines in his brow were creasing, and his gaze on me held a cold hot passion. He spun me around the room slowly with adroit steps.

"Can't you give me hints on your very nature?" I asked him as he swept me across the wooden floor flawlessly. I was intoxicated with his smooth movement, the peacefulness of his deliberation, and the comforting gaze of his marvelous green eyes. He grunted. He turned us on a dime when we were close to the warm, crackling hearth. The room seemed to be swelling as we continued the duet. I noticed it transitioning, albeit slowly, into a grand ballroom. I was now fixated on moving with on him, as well as the changing surroundings. They were all shades of black, gray, and white. Even the candlelight was a shade of gray.

I turned my head towards Sheogorath, and he was dressed in something entirely different. He was in a solid black dress robe, much similar to the one he wore so long ago, with white, frilly lining on the exaggerated sleeves, and the chest that came open to expose a sewn-on array of elegant white fringes. He still had color to him. I stared up into his eyes, following his steps around the room carefully. We passed a large mirror on the northern side, thought this was a round room. I nearly lost my balance. I was no longer in a robe. Instead, I was in a black waistcoat over a white dress shirt and black pants. My head returned towards the direction of Sheogorath.

"Things are never quite what they seem," he told me instructively, "What may be real, may be a dream." Sheogorath's eyes seemed to have a bioluminescence about them. He had such shadowlike qualities, Sheogorath. His guises seemed to be nothing but masks to crawl under. Ne'er quite the one to be direct, Sheogorath, as I said, was a master of equivocating. He was the master of the ambiguous. 'Tis true: Sheogorath's unknowable…if you believe the balderdash in The Book of Daedra. I was very determined on solving his puzzle. I knew there was a wherefore to Sheogorath, but what was it? What made him go _mad_? He might have been _disturbed_ from the start, merely foaming at the mouth, but as a god, he was howling mad.

"Now, what does this have to do with your personality?" I questioned him. He smirked, and chortled deviously. His smile was so deliciously clever and insane. His eyes lit up even brighter, with such a touched lantern. He spun me once, and he was still grinning. "Why ever wouldst it be simple?" Sheogorath rejoinder in an amused, nearly affectionate attitude. I gave him an askew look. I sighed, and countered his steps. I replied to him with, "I would never be presumptuous enough to declare anything dealing with you as simple, my dear Lord." I simpered at him, to which he smirked wider.

I found his psyche caressing my own, and I gasped. I felt myself nearly let go and fall on my back as I was sucked back in. His grasp on my hands firmed. I was saved from the crash. Pain engorged my shocked body. I endured it as I met up with his cold, cold mind. I gazed through his own eyes as he stopped. He was now sitting down, with my head in his lap. I was pallid, almost lifeless in his arms that embraced my face. Sheogorath caressed my much harder face. My face was the same shade as his. He opened my mouth gently with a single long index finger, leaned over, and kissed me.

The image turned towards him in a exquisite forest green robe. It was the memories again. He was standing in the class room, towering over the hopeful to-be apprentice Zarrexaij as she sat in one of the many chairs. He was bent over slightly, and his hair dangled in his face. It would go down to his chest, I suspected, if he stood up. The last five inches of his hair were curly. He appeared to be quite stern. Zarrexaij was dressed in a simple black robe. Her gorgeous eyes were wide as she listened to him.

"Look here. I'm not pondering taking you as my apprentice because you are female. I want to earn the respect of the council. I want to break grounds with you with skill," he informed her firmly. His green eyes were slit like. Zarrexaij nodded, then interrupted his speech with, "I'm not adept at magic." Sheogorath blinked his eyes. He continued, though flustered, "It does not matter. There is a magical presence about you. I'm led to believe myself that you have a gift, yet you are not harnessing or do not harness it for whatever reason. You do not need to know anything. In fact, I prefer it that way. What talent you have at the start is much better than what you can learn from any book." She gazed up at him innocently. The peer she gave him seemed to be one admiring him. He began to pace back and forth in front of Zarrexaij. He strode with his head first, with his hands behind his back.

"Aren't you holding me up too high on the pedestal?" she asked him curiously. She squirmed in her chair, and then commented, "These seats are uncomfortable." Sheogorath stopped his pacing. He stared at her and lifted an eyebrow. "Mayhap," he replied, "I'm always expected too much out of my apprentices. I wake up each day with optimism, and end up being bitterly disappointed by the end of the damned day. Yet I go on, waiting for that day I'm actually impressed. Maybe you shall impress me. Now there, being pessimistic won't do you any good." He was quite gesticulating as he spoke. His left hand was spread, touching his chest, and his right hand was extended outwards towards her, palm open. There was a smirk splitting his face. His cheeks were flushed a blotchy pink.

Zarrexaij continued looking up at him. Occasionally, she would crane her neck to look around the room. "What will you require me to do as your apprentice?" she interrogated him. She shook her head violently as a strand of burgundy hair fell in her view. Sheogorath was quiet for a moment, but then answered her, "I expect you to do duties for me. They may seem trivial at first but you'll find they will relate to your studies. I'd like for you to take notes over what I instruct or tell you. You mustn't lose your knowledge, so I expect you to practice everything. When it's been long enough, I'll make you a journeyman, err, woman if you can prove to me somehow that you've learned something." His apprentice nodded slowly. She tapped her right index finger on her right cheek. Her lips puckered in her thoughts. I noticed that Sheogorath began tapping one of his boots impatiently. "You have something you want to say?" he tested her suspiciously. His eyes narrowed slightly. Zarrexaij looked up. "Yes, I have something in mind. How did you run those apprentices away?" she questioned him. Her eyes were oozing purity.

The question obviously upset Sheogorath. He turned a shade of red. He took a deep breath, and answered her. He was curt, but not cruel with her. "I 'run' my apprentices out when they frustrate me with their impudence. The last two apprentices were talented, yes, but they were also disobedient. Nothing irritates me more than disrespect." His lips curled a little, and his nose wrinkled with disdain. Both of Zarrexaij's gentle dark eyebrows lifted. I could only imagine what she was thinking at this point. He did seem a little…temperamental. As if in reply to what I was thinking, the Sheogorath in the memories said shamefacedly, "What they say about my temper does have its truths, but for the most part it's exaggerated. I will tell you this, and hopefully it shan't scare you away: my temper, as some have observed, has steadily gotten worse as I have gotten older."

Zarrexaij shifted in her seat again, but this time leaned forward in the chair a bit. Her eyes were focused on Sheogorath, who only looked taller when in front of her sitting form. She sighed, and turned away slightly. Sheogorath's eyebrows furrowed. He shrugged, and brushed his hands off. "Well, I'd prefer to see you every day, if you can manage it. I'm not going to require you to come every day at all, but I do expect you to make it seventy-five percent of the time. I'll be very surprised, and delighted, if you show up tomorrow," he informed her matter-of-factly. His countenance was straight, but not stern. It almost faded to a surreal gentleness. She stood up, and gave him a respectful bow. "I'll be here tomorrow," she said with a smile.

"Oh no, that's not necessary," Sheogorath insisted avidly, "I'd like it, yes, but I'm sure you want to spend time with your family." Zarrexaij's bright expression dulled at the mention. She scowled and replied, "Yes. Spend time with my family. Right." Sheogorath lifted an eyebrow. "God-den then," he muttered in a sad voice. He bowed with exaggerated grace, and sighed. She didn't leave just quite yet. The apprentice bid him, "Goodbye." She left quite quickly. The mage frowned. I wondered if he was thinking _She must not like me_. His expression was so lugubrious. He ran his long fingers through his long hair.

"She's probably scared to death of me now. Good job," he mumbled to himself in a low, morose voice. He walked to the chair she once sat in and slumped down in it. Sheogorath bent over, his arms holding his knees. He sighed loudly. I heard various muffled voices come from him, but I understood none of it. He then sat up. His face was the usual when he got emotional: red. His eyes were also red. To himself he said, "She won't like me. She _doesn't_ like me. She's too young. You're too old. You're only fooling your damned self." His arms rested limply to his side. His head lolled a bit to the side, his flowing gingery hair covering his face like he was hiding himself from the world.

And the memory faded out of sight.


	10. Not a Father, a Beau

I have such a dirty mind.

* * *

"Sanity is not statistical."  
George Orwell_, Nineteen Eighty-Four

* * *

I learned of her finesse quickly,_ his mind echoed placidly. The coldness of the mind-spoken thought chilled my mind to the core. Sheogorath was still clutching my mind as if it were a precious belonging, or his garnet, sorry, ruby ring. I knew he was courting my body with psychic, shivery kisses and esoteric, avid embraces. I wanted to return to my reality in my passion. His mind was emanating sensuality, and I knew very well he was doing unnatural things to my soulless body. Seeing as my thoughts were no longer private, and my mind was wrought with not fright or concern but lust, his disembodied voice rang angelically in my head, _You can't hide what you _feel_ inside_. 

I was quite vulnerable to manipulation at this point. I knew it very well. _Why do you stop to fool around? I want to know _more_, Sheogorath. _Just stop _misleading me and show me. _**Show me**_ what you have in your head,_ I demanded of him forcefully. Oh yes, Sheogorath liked distracting me very much so. He never wanted to face the truth, I suppose. It was too painful. Nonetheless, the Daedric Prince responded, _Ah, but it would drive you insane._ _From start to finish, 'tis profane._ I seethed in silence as he made his sardonic response. I requested, _Please show me the memories._

I knew it was useless to try to force the mad one to give up the rest of the memories. He was rather fond of me though, in a twisted sense of the word. _Then you may not turn back, _Walter, he replied frigidly. His mind returned to the memories, and I began to see the images. They were blurry and dark at first. We, or shall I say, our minds returned to the past. It was the classroom the shadow of Sheogorath had. It was brightly lit. Sheogorath was kneeling in front of the sitting form of Zarrexaij. I suppose it was easier for him to speak comfortably like that. I made the conjecture that it would have made him too uneasy to sit beside her, so he simply squatted on the floor. I heard them talking.

"I'm stricken that you actually came. I told you it wasn't a requisite," Sheogorath told her. Both gingery, light eyebrows were raised, and his voice was bursting with astonishment and, to a much lesser extent, elation. He was dressed in a cobalt blue robe, while Zarrexaij was dressed in a badly-fitting white dress shirt and raggedy brown pants that looked like they also barley fit her. She replied politely, "I wanted to make a good impression on you. To be honest, I'm expecting to be treated…unfairly, so I might as well make myself look as best as I can." Sheogorath grinned, but not very widely.

"Do I appear to be that breed of person?" he asked her seriously. She giggled. "I guess not," she replied, "I'm just terribly afraid of it, is all." He stood up, and walked around, with his hands behind his back. He paced around the room slowly as he said, "I assure you, dear apprentice of mine, that I shall not treat you any worse or better than I have my previous well-behaved apprentices. That said, I'll begin the very first lecture. Don't worry about taking notes." Sheogorath returned to the front of the room and cleared his throat.

"I have a few things I did not tell you yesterday. Firstly, don't muck with magicka until I tell you to. I barely know you as a person or an apprentice, and thusly I can't make any judgments on how quite judicious you are. Magicka with unskilled hands is very dangerous and chaotic," he informed her sternly. His expression had hardened considerably, and, with his forehead wrinkled, the crow's feet conspicuous, and the lines around his mouth glaring at his apprentice. It was so peculiar to see him in such a serious state of mind.

He continued lecturing about rules. Very little of it was that interesting to me. Sheogorath seemed a little obsessive-compulsive about them, and despite having such a chaotic little psyche, required an intense amount of order from Zarrexaij. The only part I had interested was about channeling magicka and elemental magicka. Sheogorath told Zarrexaij this about it: "…And for your own life's sake, don't _ever _channel magicka. I've done it myself on accident, and I nearly killed myself. Don't take that as frivolous; I am incredibly skilled in magic. Channeling requires intense concentration, and an already decent supply of magicka. If you are even a bit fatigued, I wouldn't suggest it. I was _extremely_ lucky that I wasn't negatively affected in the long run. My hair was a tad bit singed, my skin burned, I had a migraine, and I was knocked out, but at my age, my heart could have easily stopped. I channeled not just magicka, but elemental magicka from a brewing thunderstorm. If my mind was clear when it happened, I would not have attempted such stupidity. The shock that came out of my right hand was enough to kill me and the person it came in contact with. Luckily, the council wasn't entirely incompetent. It was about a year ago." I then asked Sheogorath if he could by chance show me what happened.

The imaged blurred out and floated away. He showed me a new memory. Sheogorath was standing in the middle of a tall stone building somewhere. It looked almost like a castle. There were several mages sitting around him, at least a good six paces away from him. Sheogorath was wearing a robe that was two-thirds dark blue. The very middle of the robe was a thick, long streak of pastel blue. His hair was a bit longer than it was in the previous memory. Several candles and torches were lit in this gigantic room. The ambience of the room was quite ominous. There was considerable tension between what appeared to be a council of magi and Sheogorath. One of the younger members of this "council" spoke up. He looked high elven, or at least some kind of elf.

"Master Sheogorath, it has come to my attention, as well as some the rest of this splendid council, that you do not seem…competent enough to continue being considered a master trainer as far as magic goes," he said. His voice echoed on in the room. Sheogorath blinked his eyes. He looked like he had just been hit hard with a rock slab. "What did you say?" Sheogorath asked defensively, his countenance becoming perturbed. The elf hesitated. He then replied, "I'm not saying you're stupid. What I'm saying, is that you aren't fit to do it because of your…well…inconvenience." The other members of council weren't getting involved. Sheogorath was slowly becoming an eye-jarring red. His green eyes were squinting in anger. Thunder clapped outside.

"Oh," Sheogorath riposted in a composed voice, though it was obvious he was hardly calm, "Please do enlighten me about this 'inconvenience' you are speaking about." Even though this was simply a memory, it quieted me. Thunder rolled again. The old shadow of the Mad God just stood there with his fist clenched. They were turning a fish-belly white. After a few moments, the elf had the nerve to respond. In a whiny, obnoxious little voice, he spoke, "Sheogorath, I don't know if you haven't notice, but your disregard to the safety of others with your temper is a grave concern. Now, if you will, please resign."

I began to notice that Sheogorath's long hair began to stand on its end. It was frizzing up. His eyes seemed to obtain that eerie glow I saw frequently while in the present. The candles and torches blew out abruptly, and the room was darkened. "What are you saying?" the much older Sheogorath instigated. I heard the elf stutter on words. "W-W-W-What I am saying is, is that you are a danger to us. Now, please resign, so we can all feel comfortable again…" he stammered nervously. It was hard to tell in the dark, but the elf looked like he was fidgeting with his hands. In the dark, I could see electric discharge flirt amongst Sheogorath's hair and goatee. Briskly, he erupted with, "_NO!"_ The thunder grumbled mercurially. I could barely make out him pointing at the elf.

Not a split second later, I saw a bolt of lightning begotten from the pointer finger of Sheogorath's right hand. It was aimed at and hit the elf. He was flung back in his seat, and his the wall. The entire room was illuminated by that single bolt. Suddenly, light from outside poured into the room. The council members were shrieking and dashing to the aid of the fallen elf. Sheogorath looked quite horrified. He was sickeningly ashy. He looked at the limp body of the elf, and his eyes rolled in his sockets. "What have I done?" he asked himself quietly. I watched him faint, and the memory blacked out as well.

The memory returned into focus. A figure was leaning into Sheogorath's line of sight. It was a young man with cropped brown hair dressed in a holey dirty brown robe. Sheogorath stared at him with a dull expression for a few moments before the image seemed to sink into his head. "Sire, you've been out for a while. The rest of the council are gone. Do you know where you are?" the man asked Sheogorath in an alarmed manner. Sheogorath rubbed his eyes, and sat up.

He replied groggily, "Yes. Yes, I know where I am. I'm in our council seating." Sheogorath held his head. "Ugh," he remarked, "my head aches." Slowly, Sheogorath stood up. The young man, who couldn't be more than eighteen years of age, looked much smaller compared to the mage who was in his fall years of his life. The young man fidgeted with his feet. His boots were scraping against each other. "Well, sire, you did something I haven't heard or seen of except in books. You, uh, channeled magicka, or at least it appeared that way. Would explain why you were knocked out," the older-teenaged boy told him.

Sheogorath brushed himself off, and mumbled "Thanks" before he ran off into oblivion.

The burned-in memory transferred me back to Sheogorath and Zarrexaij in the class room. Zarrexaij was now standing up, right in front of him. They were close, and I could tell this made Sheogorath uncomfortable. He was tensed up. "Tomorrow is Loredas. If you manage to show up like you did today, well, I won't have class for you. I'll treat you like the very elusive visitor I get," he informed her shakily. Zarrexaij smiled at this. "I'll come then, for you," she replied blissfully. I could see Sheogorath tense up even more, and he began to blush.

"That's indubitably kind of you," he said in a grateful, albeit nervous voice. Zarrexaij didn't seem to mind Sheogorath's apprehension towards her. She touched his arm in a friendly gesture. I could tell Sheogorath was beyond mortified at this point. Either she took this as a cue to leave, or she was through. Either way, she said, "Goodbye, master," to which Sheogorath maundered, "Goodbye, Zarrexaij."

When Zarrexaij made it out the door and completely out of his house, Sheogorath said to himself, "She needs more than a father figure. She needs a beau, which she obviously does not have, if she spends so much time on the pursuits of a scholar. Oh, and how wretched I am for saying such a thing. It shan't ever happened, so why would I think such a thing? Why would such beauty want to deal with something so repulsive? Never mind that. I have such an idle mind, and idle minds are bound to destruction. It seems as if women are not the fragile creatures, but the men." He toyed with his robe a bit, before he wandered into the hallway, went inside his room, and closed the door.

And thusly, the memory fainted away quietly. He had been enamored with her. Obviously, there was some success to his courting of her that must have gone on sometime.


	11. Tempest

"Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,  
That they behold and see not what they see?"  
William Shakespeare, Sonnet 137

* * *

He yanked me out of his memories for a brief moment. He was bent over me in the eerie light gray light. His features looked so much softer in the glow of decay. Sheogorath gently caressed my pale face as I stared up at the ceiling. The ceiling was circular was well, and was nothing but interconnected triangular, rectangular, rhombic, pentagonal, hexagonal, and heptagonal mirrors. I saw myself reflected in one of these mirrors. My eyes seemed unnaturally bright and glowing. I watched Sheogorath in the mirror, moving with such majesty that it was an art itself for him to move, gnawing and kissing and nibbling on my neck, like an insane vampire. I couldn't help but be hypnotized, _mesmerized_ by his movement. His lips were so red, yet his cheeks so pale, and I couldn't help but feel aloof as he touched me with his icy fingers and lips.

"My dear Walter, does thou know now?" he asked me, his face in front of mine. His tone of voice was paradoxically sweet and cruel. He looked so young in the candlelight that mimicked the shine of the moons. He almost looked angelic as he gazed into my eyes silently in the light. Yet, this light also gave him a hint of sadness. I reached out slowly to touch his right cheek. He clutched it all of a sudden to his cheek in his serenity, and a pearly tear streamed down from each of his striking eyes.

"I know what you are. You are the tempest, no, the lightning begat from it. Lightning, unpredictable, duel-nature, embodies you perfectly. You are not just a force of chaos, but one of cold precision, of white-hot passion and energy. You can either completely destroy everything in your wake, or leave everything unharmed, and there is little who understands you," I uttered to him softly. He blinked his impenetrable eyes. It was quite odd how little his eyes reflected other than the very slightest hint of madness and a beyond-human, ancient intelligence. Sometimes, the gleam in his eyes was sad, but it was very rare. I was seeing it to a small degree now. I caressed his face. I wondered if Zarrexaij ever observed, _studied_ him the way I was, and I wondered what it was like to see everything behind those eyes: the fear, the hate, the love, the angst, the worry, the despair. Sheogorath said nothing, but I knew he had listened. When I had spoken, his gaze was on me, and I felt like I was being treated with care instead of the usual disdain he displayed for me. I knew I was right, because he was stupefied in his tranquility. I knew I had unlocked a piece to the puzzle, but how much exactly did I find?

"May I sit up now?" I asked him in my most polite voice. I stopped touching his face, and he slid off of me. He sat up, as did I. We were still quite close together, but it wasn't quite as intimate. His eyes glared into my own. I shuddered at his gaze. He said to me, "You want to know more, don't you now." And I did. I nodded, and he sighed. The light dimmed and turned a dark blue. He reached out for one of my hands. I clutched his hand. I closed my eyes, and prepared for pain carrying my body away. The trip was quite painful, but I had gotten use to it.

I was in his mind again, and I could see through his eyes that some of the ballroom's walls were a decaying, almost moldy black. My shell of a body was still holding his hand tenderly. I pictured myself sighing as I felt myself sucked into his memories.

I saw Sheogorath, sitting cross-legged in a chair in his den, reading a book by candlelight. He was dressed in a royal purple robe. I could tell by the light coming from the various windows that it was at least late morning. Then I heard rapping, rapping at the front door. I watched him place the book on the wooden floor and stand up. He sighed as he walked towards the door and opened it slightly. It was enough for him to see who was standing behind it. He said nothing for a few moments. Then, he opened the door completely and I saw Zarrexaij, wearing a light purple robe, enter. She continued walking to the padded bench and sat down. Sheogorath closed the door and spoke to her.

"I told you that you needn't come," he told her respectfully. She watched him sit next to her, but not too closely. Zarrexaij replied, "I realize this, but I came because I _wanted_ to." She smiled. Sheogorath's expression remained serious but not stern, but something in his eyes gave me the impression he was bursting with pride. He shifted slightly in his seat, and said, "Well, I'm sure you have _something_ in mind to speak to me about." She grinned even wider, and replied, "Yes, well. I wanted _you_ to teach _me _how to use and manipulate magicka. Can you do that today?"

He looked away from her for a second. He stroked his goatee before answering, "Yes, I believe so. Will you be attentive?" He squinted his eyes a bit on that last sentence. Zarrexaij nodded. "I wouldn't waste your time," she said sincerely. I saw a corner of Sheogorath's mouth go up. He stood up, and gestured for her to follow him. She then got up and followed him into the classroom-like setting he had. Sheogorath opened the door for her, and closed it behind the both of them. He took a very deep breath.

"It requires you to concentrate, think about what you want to do, and release that magic you receive. It's fairly simple, but isn't nearly as easy as it sounds. I just want to warn you not to be too foolish and overestimate yourself. Here, I'll demonstrate," he lectured sternly. His countenance became very pensive. Zarrexaij was watching him intensively. Her head practically followed Sheogorath's flowing wrist and arm gestures as he released a burst of magicka. It was a Light spell that greatly illuminated the room. Sheogorath commented, "I did a harmless spell. I didn't want to potentially endanger you. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

Zarrexaij nodded, and tried her hand at it herself. Her face tensed up in thought, and I watched her make similar exaggerated gestures. From her slender, feminine hands produced a small ball of flame that puffed rapidly in the air. It fizzed out before it could do any damage. Sheogorath looked at her. "Impressive that you succeeded on the first try," he commented. His tone of voice seemed to be, indeed, impressed with her work. Zarrexaij looked positively radiant as he complimented her.

She leaped up to him, and looked up at him. She begged of him, "Can I stay longer?" Sheogorath did not hesitate to answer. "Of course you may, Zarrexaij," he replied, his voice containing a hint of affection. He looked at her, and smiled very faintly. He shakily laid his hands on her shoulders He looked as if he squeezed them gently. "I don't think I'll be getting a disappointment out of you," he remarked teasingly. Zarrexaij just looked up at him and smiled.

"How many students have you had?" she asked him curiously. He slid his hands off her shoulders. Sheogorath tensed up a little. I don't believe it was the question itself, but Zarrexaij was now in quite an intimate distance from Sheogorath. She was close enough to give him a hug or kiss, for example. I could tell that Sheogorath did not like his space invaded, much less being touched. "I've had only twelve students," he replied nervously, "and all but two have succeeded onto being masters. The council has never been very willing to give me apprentices and such."

Zarrexaij sat down in one of the seats, and placed her right hand underneath her lower jaw. She looked off into the windows. "I'm hungry," she said absent-mindedly, "Will you be kind enough to fix something to eat?" Sheogorath mumbled a reply, "Yes, I shall fix something for the _both_ of us." He exited the room, and Zarrexaij was left on her own. She sighed, and reclined in the chair. "Sheogorath," she talked to herself, "How I would enjoy to _know_ thee." She sighed after saying it.

The Sheogorath of the past seemed to be taking his sweet time. Zarrexaij exhaled, and continued mumbling to herself. "Always wearing something long-sleeved," she remarked solely to herself, her voice growing slightly husky, "I wonder what he hides beneath all those garments." She sifted again, and moaned softly. Her eyes rolled in their sockets a little, and her face slide left. "Oh, Master," she sighed. She squirmed in her seat for a couple more moments. "Forbidden, yes, forbidden I am to you, Master, but I shall be yours," she promised to Sheogorath, who was not there, "why, Master, I'd give myself…" Then the door opened, and Sheogorath walked in, with an eyebrow lifted, carrying a tray of sliced bread, a pitcher filled with a steaming liquid, and two tea cups.

He said nothing about what I assumed he heart. Instead, he said beside her and presented her some of the bread. She took it gratefully, and nibbled on it like a small, furry animal. Sheogorath took one of his slices of bread and finished it much faster than his apprentice did. He poured the steaming liquid in both the tea cups, and sighed. He watched Zarrexaij finish the last of her first slice and moved onto his second. She shifted in her chair, and laid her right hand on his left knee. Sheogorath looked at her strangely, but did not say anything as he finished his second slice.

"Don't you think our relationship with each other should be greater than the average relationship between student and teacher?" she interrogated him. Both of Sheogorath's eye brows lifted, and his lowered face as he looked at her. She giggled. Zarrexaij added on to her question, "I don't mean it like that. I don't mean a father-daughter relationship. I mean… more of a platonic relationship. You interest me more as a mentor. I want to know you as a person, not just as a teacher, Master." He looked down for a moment, and tapped a boot on the floor. He appeared as thoughtful as ever. He answered her, "It's a rather unorthodox request…but that's fine." He picked up one of the tea cups gently and sipped at the liquid inside.

"It's tea," he informed her matter-of-factly. Zarrexaij looked at the cup full of semi-translucent reddish-brownish liquid, and picked it up. She examined both the container and liquid. Then, she sipped on it daintily. She gazed at him, and complimented him, "It's good." She saw his first wide grin that did not show his teeth, and this pleased her. "You should stop scowling so much, Master," she mentioned wittily, "it has seemed to have almost completely fixed your face that way." A small flush entered his cheeks.

"You can't be merry all the time, can you?" he asked her. Zarrexaij lightheartedly replied, "Ah, but you can't be cross all the time, either." She smiled brightly at him. Sheogorath flashed her a short, wry smile as he chuckled for a few brief moments. "I do believe it appears we will not conflict as forces, but I suppose knowing each other for only four days is no way of knowing. It feels so much longer, though," she said to him mellifluously. He took another sip of his eyes. He replied, "I do not suppose we shall, either. You are well-mannered, and most pleasant to be accompanied with." Zarrexaij continued her wide beam.

They conversed on irrelevant subject matter for what seemed to be several hours. When my mind was tiring, I was pleasantly surprised when Zarrexaij stood up slowly. "I must leave," she exhale noisily in such a depressed tone of voice, "my family is bound to be worried." Sheogorath nodded understandingly and stood up with her. He placed his hand over hers to lead her the way. He opened the door, and led her amongst the hallway and into the den. He stopped before he dared to open the front door. "Zarrexaij, it was delightful for you to speak with me. I shall enjoy your company just as much in the future, but there is a question burning my mind. Why do you speak the word 'family' with such depression, such disdain?" he questioned her amenably. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and his eyes seemed to grow just a wee bit larger.

She stuttered. "Master," she began in her uneasy voice, "my family does not much care for my scholarly pursuits. I am the only child they have been able to conceive, and as the single female, I've been expected to be married off. My mother is most disappointed with my aspirations, as is my father to a certain degree. However, since they can find no man who will take my beloved hand in matrimony, they let me, very hesitantly, pursue my own fate." Sheogorath's tension seemed to be relieved as his face softened on her. He spoke to her, "Always remember, Zarrexaij, that there is always someone in a much worse situation. I don't know what it is like to have _proper_, _loving_ parents." He opened the door for her as she reached for it. They bid each other goodbye, and Sheogorath quickly closed the door.

"Such innocent beauty would be a crime to mar with my touch," he muttered to himself, his eyes wide and not unhappy. He leaned against the door. Sheogorath looked so smitten in his staring trance. The last of that memory was him slowly sitting down against the door with his hands in his long gingery red hair.


	12. Like an Insane Vampire

"The thought of suicide is a powerful solace: by means of it one gets through many a bad night."  
Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

I had been cut almost unkindly from the umbilical cord I had made my mind with his. He gazed at me most coldly, though not derisively, as I held his hand like a child would hold his mother's. I blinked, and released him from the vice. I sighed, and stood up. "Are we going to leave this phantasmagoria?" I asked him jadedly. Sheogorath gazed up at me. Before he stood up, he said to me in a low, quieted voice, "In its wickedness, death doth sigh. Even the deities must die." I furrowed my brows in bemusement,. It did not seem relevant, at the time. He then whispered, "In this place, you and I will die. Not the death of the body, but mind. The end of this place is quite nigh. Nothing is certain, this I find. Everything has complicated. Everything has vanished. It's a slow, painful decadence. I know you feel it now, Walter."

He stood up, and looked dead into my own eyes. I looked around the black and white room, and saw the exit. It was on the northern side of the room, which was opposite of where I was once facing when I looked at Sheogorath. "You better keep your promise," I mumbled to myself as he began his way towards the door. I didn't intend for him to hear it. He chortled in his throat, turned to look at me deviously, and opened the door as he reached it walking backwards. I followed him as he slid outside. I blinked as I made it outside. We were back to wearing our regular attire, instead of the strange reversal. The walls were a slightly greater percentage of black than last time. The walls, or most of it at least, were half black. Others were rusting, or becoming living, writhing flesh. I knew what this place was, and this place was a damned festering wound.

"Sheogorath, I know you know what is going on," I accused him grimly, folding my arms. His smile rapidly dissolved into a dark frown. The look of darkness, fatigue, and ice returned to his face. "Perhaps so," he replied to me despondently, "but I dare not say." He tensed up, and in response, so did I. For a few long moments we said absolutely nothing. We just stood there.

Finally, I broke the silence. "Please continue guiding me. Without you I could not go on, could not bear this weight and monotony," I assured him. I neared him, and placed my right hand on his left arm as I was to the left of him. His scowl vanquished, but his pained, gloomy countenance did not. "Please," I begged of him, "don't be mad at me." Sheogorath shook his head. "No, it really does not matter," he reassured me. He started to continue his sorrowful promenade. I followed him.

Sheogorath swayed gently as he walked towards a door far from us. He seemed to forget that I was there, and did not wait for me to catch up. "Wait!" I shouted to him, sprinting towards him. He stopped abruptly. I watched his entire body heave as I strode towards him. He was only a few large footsteps away from the door. I walked up to the front of him, and faced him. His face was blank and taut, and his eyes that stared at the ground were emotionless. "I was always waiting for her," he rambled to me numbly. He didn't look at me. His head was held low, and his skin was pallid again.

"I know," I whispered softly to him. I extending my right hand to touch his face. His face was unbelievably frigid. I remarked, "You feel so cold." I ambled up closer to him, and craned my neck up at him, trying to catch his gaze. He didn't even lift his head or turn it away. "Can we just go in now?" I asked him anxiously. I thought, _I know Zarrexaij is out there_. Sheogorath exhaled sharply. His eyes slowly fixed on me. He walked past me and opened the door. Before he walked in, he looked at me. His eyes were full of woe. After a elongated moment of silence, he disappeared behind the door.

I entered the room as well. This room was most…unique. This room was full of organic, gigantic tubes made of translucent flesh and ichors that acted as grotesque columns. I counted twenty in the room that was easily three thousand square feet, which was an impossibility in the physical world. The distance, from the perspective of the hallway, widthwise only appeared to be a meager twelve. The tubes contained hairless, naked men who stood, unaware, in golden silence. Sheogorath stood, dazed, looking at the tubes. "Positively fascinating," Sheogorath remarked under his breath as he strode up to a tube. He gazed at its contents. The tube he was gazing at contained a man my height with grayish blue-green eyes. I recognized him. I myself, in curiosity, ambled up to one and gazed upon it.

The man inside it was taller than I. His head was held down, and his arms clasped the opposite shoulder. As I neared it, I swear I saw its left arm muscles twitch. Violently, and most suddenly, he lifted his head and pushed against the tube that he was contained in. It strained against him, but expanded far enough to nearly touch me. I stepped backwards. I gazed into the eyes of the creation. They were an obscenely vivid green. I heard it utter a muffled scream as it struggled in the tube. I continued backing away from him.

I backed up so much I bumped into Sheogorath. "Oof," I emitted in surprise. I turned to face him. He grabbed me by the collar of my robe. I gasped as I was pulled into his grasp. I gazed up at him quizzically. He said nothing to me, nor did anything to me. His eyes just gazed at me mysteriously. It was a threatening look, a look I wanted him to stop. I dropped to my knees, facing him.

"Don't hurt me," I whimpered softly. I bent over at his feet, and I feared looking up. He cleared his throat. "I demand that you rise, _Walter_," he said imperatively. I loathed it when he said my name. He almost always said it in such a snide, unpleasant way. I rose with my head held low. Sheogorath wasn't one for informalities. He found such pleasure in torturing me, teasing me,_ mocking_ me. I felt his scornful gaze burning on me.

Sheogorath caressed my face. I shuddered at his surprisingly gentle touch. I finally lifted my head and I gazed into his eyes. They seemed to be glowing. He smiled at me widely. His smile was beautifully terrible. Then, he reached over and bit into my neck. Pain enveloped me as his sharp canine teeth pierced the skin of my neck. I screamed. It was horrendously painful, yet at the same time I found it pleasurable. At the same time I wanted him to stop gnawing, I wanted him to continue. Because I found it so intoxicating, I embraced him with tears of sting streaming down my face.

He released his clenched jaws. Sheogorath withdrew from my neck and returned to his original position. Two streamlets of blood ran from the corners of his mouth into his goatee. I could not see my own neck, but I pictured blood streaming steadily from the wounds. I groaned. With the index and middle fingers of my right hand, I felt the wound, and then showed myself the hand. My two fingers were covered with blood. I shivered. I wanted to revile, but I didn't.

I suppose in a sense I did, though. I grinned at him lustily. "What mischief art thou up to now?" he questioned me. His tone of voice was of a neutral inquisitiveness. He eyed me suspiciously. I answered him, "Why, nothing." I was hardly being sincere, and I reflected that in my sardonic tone of voice. I undid his belt, and he raised his eyebrows at me. "That's too much of a distraction," he told me, and took my rummaging hands in his own.

I felt him attempt to take me away into his psyche again. My hands began smarting, and I ached. That dull ache was not at all delightful! I yelped again, and writhed, but was soothed as he embraced me and kissed my mouth. I was propelled into his mind, and I adapted quickly to the odd feeling of a cold deeper than the physical cold.

His mind turned towards a memory of him in front of Zarrexaij in the classroom. _That's two months into her lessons_, he informed me. The memory of Sheogorath was lecturing on Mysticism, or what would become that School. He was dressing it a red robe with a belt. His back was frequently turned to her three-quarters of the way as he drew stuff on the black wall with a white stick of plaster. He would explain the drawings and the processes, I watched Zarrexaij, dressed in a black robe, write notes in a leather-bound journal. Occasionally she would stop and sigh. Those actions interested me. Her master's back was now turned to her.

Zarrexaij closed her notebook quietly and stood up without as much as a tiny whine of the chair on the tile. She sneaked over to where Sheogorath was standing. He was much too absorbed in what he was teaching to pay her any heed. I watched her grab his buttocks. He stopped and exclaimed in surprise, "Eep!" His yelp was quite sharp. He dropped the improvised chalk, and it audibly broke on the floor. His head craned slightly to look at her, and his face was a bright red. "I implore you. Please sit down," he said in a flustered tone.

Zarrexaij sat back down, and grinned as he bent over to pick up the blaster. Sheogorath was growing more self-conscious and quickly wrote down the rest of his notes. He slowly faced her and walked towards the sides so she could finish writing down notes. His face was still blushed. I observed Zarrexaij jotting down the rest of her notes in the journal. Finally, Sheogorath uttered words to her outside of the notes, "That's all for today." He cleared his throat, but it was clear he did not have his composure.

"So I won't be applying it 'til the morrow?" she asked him politely, though he voice was clearly disappointed. Sheogorath nodded, and held his hands behind his back. "You can stay longer, if you like," he told her kindly. He was still physically shaken. Zarrexaij grinned, and replied, "I will stay longer, then, Master." She wandered out of the room, and I assumed she went into the den. Her master sighed, and stayed in the classroom for a bit.

"So does it appear that the illusion that she dislikes me is gone. And to think, in my uncertainty, that I had thought of death, because I felt my sentiments were not mutual," Sheogorath mumbled to himself. He adjusted his robe, and he cursed to himself, "Ah! Damned loins!" He had to adjust it again. After having to readjust the third time, he finally tucked himself into the belt and muttered incoherently to himself. He exited the room, and went to find Zarrexaij.

Zarrexaij was sitting on a padding bench in the den, studying her notes. Sheogorath grinned, and sat beside her, which I found odd considering he hardly liked physical contact. She closed her book of notes, and looked up at him. "Are you mad at me?" she questioned him nervously. Sheogorath shook his head, and assured her, "Of course not." He did not touch her, and he did not scoot closer to her. I could tell he was hardly comfortable.

Could this be the start of their relationship? They chatted for what seemed to be about an hour and Zarrexaij left. Sheogorath remained on the bench, and sighed. "How much more soothing it is to thing of being not, than it is to think of what her doleful reaction to my courting of her might be," he uttered to himself. He loosened what was probably his very tight feeling robe and exhaled sharply. He curled up on the bench, and fell asleep.

That was the last of that short memory. As short as it was, I knew it was an incredibly significant memory.


	13. Leech

This is definitely M rated stuff. Rated M for homosexuality, sex, and rape. We have just one big motif of sex and violence going on, don't we?

* * *

"If I cannot inspire love, I will inspire fear!"  
Mary Shelley, _Frankenstein

* * *

_My mind was my own again. I gasped for air, and he hugged me tighter. It bordered onto painful squeezing, but I knew he meant no harm. I squirmed beneath his grip. He released me reluctantly. "Somewhere else now?" I asked him, gazing around the room. The room had changed since I had entered the mind of Sheogorath. Instead of just one door, there were four now, one on each side of the room. He replied to me, "Aye; I'm quite tired of its aura." He looked at the tubes with disgust, and led me towards the door south of us. The walk wasn't that long.

He opened the door, and stopped. I slipped past him and entered the room. This room had a very faint, odd dark blue lighting. It was quite melancholy. The room was smallish, and had a single oval altar in the center. It was about half my height, and lengthwise it was about the length of seven or eight feet. It was covered by what appeared to be a long, black rectangle of fabric. Otherwise, this room was featureless. Sheogorath entered the room, and gently shut the door behind him.

I turned towards him, and grinned mischievously. I was still very thrilled from his strange affections. I knelt, and began to undo his boots. "_What_ do you think you are doing?" he demanded me forcefully. He lifted up his left foot slightly like he was going to kick me. My riposte was "What do you _think_ I am doing?" After several minutes of fiddling with his boots, I finally managed to get both of them off. I looked up at him.

He didn't seem to be too pleased. His expression was quite sour. I stood, and looked him in the eyes. "But it's okay if you do it?" I asked him defiantly. He snorted, and his nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Wanting him to regain a more…pleasant countenance, I kissed him on his lips. I quivered as his lips responded to mine. I clutched his shoulders tightly. My eyes were wide open, and his were closed tight. I slipped one of my hands between us and unbuttoned his pants. He withdrew his mouth from mine, and blinked.

I panted, "Can we get on the floor?" Sheogorath looked at me oddly. He sat down, and looked up at me curiously. I sat down on my knees. My hands untied the strings holding my robe together. I stood up, and let it fall. Sheogorath eyed me acrimoniously. I lowered myself to my knees, and grinned at him toothily. I imaged I looked quite insane as I began pulling his pants off. He snarled at me as I managed to pull them _all the way_ off. I must have caught a nerve, because he bit my hand and briskly kicked me.

I winched, and crawled behind him. Sheogorath hissed at me, "Don't you _EVEN _think about it!" I pushed him over, crawled over him, and he kicked me again, right in the groin. I yelped, and clutched my loin with one hand as I held him down. He struggled beneath me, bucking to try to get me off him. Using my hands, I opened his legs, and with a single thrust made it home. He emitted a muffled a shriek of intense pain through his teeth.

He no longer actively resisted my efforts. I laid down beside him as I thrust inside him. Sheogorath glared at me and clenched his teeth. He held himself up with his arms. I gathered myself onto my knees, and panted. I wrapped my arms around his torso, and pleaded, "Please, Sheogorath, take me away. Devour me, devour my pain." Tears began streaming down my face as I held him and made tainted love to him.

He groaned beneath me. I felt sweat build up between us. Sheogorath's eyes filled up with tears. I kissed his neck, and clutched him tightly. "Please," I whispered to him, "please don't be peeved at me." He shook his head and said nothing. I slipped one hand southwards and felt his abnormally large hardness. He gurgled in his throat, and I kissed his neck again as I rocked into him in a steady rhythm. He contracted around my member painfully, and I gasped. "Argh… Sheogorath," I murmured into one of his ears. I listened to his breath, and his breath was beginning to come out in deep, lusty pants.

"Wahl…Wal…_Walter,_" Sheogorath moaned very softly beneath me. He gasped (in pleasure or pain?) as I pounded into him furiously, my lust overtook my want to be gentle, my want to make sure he would not lash out later. "Please forgive me," I whimpered huskily to him. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh overwhelmed my ears. One of my hands return to his crotch, stroking his member, as the other one flung to the ground to hold me up. My nerves seethed with pleasure. I was getting closer and closer, but was he?

Sheogorath inhaled sharply. I felt his body shake below mine. His face contorted. I began stroking faster, thrusting faster, moaning and groaning, as I felt my release leap closer to my reach. He began to grunt between his teeth. Finally, he vocalized, open mouth, loudly, and it echoed in the room. My body shuddered as he contracted again around me. Sheogorath groaned again, so very loudly, and I felt him spurt over my hands. I gasped. I reached my plateau and climaxed.

I collapsed into his spine, and he let out a noise. Sheogorath slid a hand over one of my sticky hands. He found this to be a damned good time for anecdotes. I grimaced in pain as he slowly sent me spiraling back into his memories. He turned his head as far as he could and kissed my mouth as he usually did.

_This is about four months later_, Sheogorath said in his calm mind-voice as he showed me the images. He was sitting in large chair, in his candlelit study room, in front of a desk, reading. It was night, and it was storming outside. He sighed dreamily, and flipped the page. I heard, somewhere far off, the hysteric, loud sobbing of a woman. Sheogorath lifted his head from his book and raised an eyebrow. He stood up and turned his chair to face the door only twelve feet away.

Zarrexaij came bursting into the room. She was sobbing quite loudly. She was wearing a soaked robe ripped around the bosom, partially exposing a breast, and the legs. Her crotch was stained with some dark liquid. He closed his book and laid it on the desk. Sheogorath asked her in a concerned voice, "What's wrong?" She ambled up to him, and covered her face with her hands. He looked at her robe, and his eyes grew wide. "Is that blood?" he asked her.

She just stood there, sobbing stridently. Sheogorath apprehensively reached out and removed one of her hands from her face. "You can tell me," he cooed. Zarrexaij turned her head away from him. "Please! Tell me that's wrong, Zarrexaij," he pleaded, and clutched her free hand. Her eyes finally met his, and they were full of shame. "Terence," she whispered in a ridiculously quite voice. Her master gestured for her to go on.

"What about him?" Sheogorath interrogated her. His tone of voice was quite distressed. Zarrexaij stared at him blankly for quite sometime before answering. In the tiniest voice she could conjure, I barely heard her say, "He raped me." I saw Sheogorath's face go from compassionate to seething. She looked at him with large, fearful eyes. "Are you mad at me?" she squeaked at him with her eyes dripping of salty tears. He shook his head, and sat down.

Shakily, he gently tugged on her arm to accompany him on the chair. Sheogorath watched, and trembled, as she crawled up into his lap. Zarrexaij curled up and shivered, still crying, as she laid her head on his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, and felt him heave beneath her. She stopped crying, and asked, "What's wrong?"

He answered her in a low voice, "I have been hiding something from you. You see, I hold feelings for you I should not. Zarrexaij, I love you." Zarrexaij smiled widely. "I love you, too, Master," she whispered into his ear. He timidly wrapped his arms around her. "I'll take care of your problem," he promised her tenderly, "and do stop calling me 'Master'. Call me by my name." Sheogorath's embrace grew tighter, and he rocked her gently to sleep.

When she fell asleep, Sheogorath stood up and delicately laid her in the chair. He exited the room, wandered down the hallway to his room, and began rummaging through his wardrobe. He slipped on a cloak and put on his boots. Then I watched him storm into the den, and slither outside. It was raining heavily, and every so often lightning burst through the clouds and scrapped the ground. Thunder rolled and growled and roared and grumbled, and this was all above Sheogorath, who looked just as irate as the thunderstorm sounded. His mad green eyes seemed to blaze in the inky blackness of the night.

His tall form slunk into town. Sheogorath looked like a fantastical, gigantic animal on the prowl as he wandered the shadows of night. I heard mud squelching, protesting against his black leather boots, as he skulked towards a house several feet away. It was briefly illuminated by the flash of lightning, as if this storm was _aiding_ Sheogorath, even _controlled_ by him. He arrived to the door, and knocked on it slowly. _Rap._ He waited. _RAP_. He waited. _RAP!_ Finally, the door opened, and the dark was punctured by the candlelight of the house.

Terence looked up at Sheogorath, and knew something was wrong. His pupils dilated widely. "Sheogorath?" he questioned the tall mage, who was standing in his doorway, looking livid, looking _murderous_, and looking _mad_. Terence swallowed the saliva in his mouth. He asked in a voice that grew tiny on its way out, "_Sheogorath?_" Sheogorath stared at him with his ghoulish, bloodshot eyes. He wiped his feet off and stepped into the house. The door slammed behind him.

"Terence, you have some _elucidating_ to do," Sheogorath hissed. The thunder growled. Terence stared up at the taller man, and began backing up. Sheogorath stepped forward, and Terence lost his balance. He crawled over to the chairs. "You touched _her_," Sheogorath accused him with very narrowed eyes, with flared nostrils, "didn't you, you little villain?" The man he accused turned sheet white. Sheogorath's face split into a very unpleasant, fanatical grin. "Did you enjoy tearing her insides? Did it make you go _crazy_ when she screamed? Did you only thrust harder when she began sobbing and relish the frantic squirming beneath you? Oh, and dear me, did it drive you _wild_ when her blood began to _pool_?" he interrogated Terence snidely. His smile was simply insane. Terence stared up at him, and stammered on words.

"It w-w-w-wasn't like that Sh-sh-sh-sh-eogorath! I didn't t-t-t-touch her!" Terence wailed. He began sobbing, and Sheogorath's nose wrinkled in disdain. "You _LIE_!" the maddened mage shouted. I watched Sheogorath kick Terence in the stomach, hard. His victim produced a high-pitched whine. I watched, in horror, as Sheogorath picked up his sufferer and placed the villain on his feet. Terence's eyes widened, again, and he stood there, stupefied, as he was punched quite hard in the jaw. I heard crunching and snapping noises. Terence began screaming as Sheogorath _leapt _onto him.

Sheogorath sat up on the supposed criminal. Terence was no longer looking at Sheogorath. He clawed at the space his aggressor occupied. Sheogorath began to punch Terence in the face, and Terence began clawing at the clothed arms of the attacker. Terence flailed beneath the mage, pinioned by his weight. He screeched as his nose broke on the impact of another punch, and hence wise, covered his face with his hands. That did not stop his assailant at all. Sheogorath kept dealing him blows viciously. He looked like he was in an anger-induced trance.

The door of the house opened. I suppose the struggle was heard throughout the village, because men who looked like guards entered the house. I watched four enter the house, and three try to pry the men apart. The fourth ran out of the house to get more reinforcements. A few more came, the number I'm not so sure, and helped get the two men separated. It took about seven men to separate the two. It didn't help that Sheogorath was taller and heavier (though I assume by not too much-he was quite thin) than the average man there. When finally pried apart, a guard asked them.

"So, men, what causes this ruckus?" the taller of them asked. He was about five foot eleven, which is but an inch taller than I. Sheogorath glared at Terence, who was holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. Sheogorath answered, "He raped my apprentice, Zarrexaij Alighieri, and I believed it necessary to take his punishment into my own hands. He should be castrated! She came to me in the storm, sobbing, her robe tattered and soaked, covered in blood, _her own blood_!" The thunder growled. Terence opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "Can you prove that he's guilty?" asked the guard.

Why yes, I can," Sheogorath replied, "she's at my house, right now, sleeping. She hasn't washed or changed clothes." The guard nodded, and said, "Thank you then. We'll take a look at her." Half the guards left with Terence, and the other half traveled with Sheogorath to his house.

I watched, and I wondered, as the memory began to ebb, what happened next.


	14. A Girl No More

Finally, another chapter you can all sink your teeth into.

* * *

"This is the way I pray/  
Living just isn't hard enough/  
Burn me alive inside/  
Living my life's not hard enough/  
Take everything away"  
Disturbed, "Prayer"

* * *

I buried my face into the sweat-beaded nape of Sheogorath. He sighed deeply, and I cooed in his ear. His white dress shirt, which was slithering with wrinkles, was hugging his skin. It was drenched in his sweet perspiration. His hair was slightly damp, and I realized my own was too. I kissed his neck right above the collar of his shirt, and lazily pillowed my head there. I wondered if he hated me for what I had just done to him. Sheogorath was oddly silent and rigid, so I naturally assumed he was seething like lightning in his gut.

"Are you okay?" I asked him politely. My voice was broken and almost weak. For the first time here, I felt truly tired myself. He shifted slightly on his four spidery, long limbs. He answered me in a slow, exaggerated speech, "Everything is just _perfect_." His voice was breathy and difficult to hear. I slid my head to his shoulder to look at his face. It was still reddish and relatively clean of emotions. He did look tired. I squeezed his body gently.

I did not wish to be free from the comfort of his body, but nothing would be accomplished otherwise. I slid off his back carefully, and proceeded to redress myself again into my robe and boots. I stood up, and gazed at him. He was still paralyzed in the same position he was before I got off of him. Sweat still glistened on his pallid form. Finally, he stirred, though reluctantly. In a frenzy, he clothed his body and laced on his boots. When he finally stood, the green look his eyes gave me was unbearable. "More," I demanded piteously, "I want to know more. I want to know more about your memories, your experiences, and damn it to Sithis, your _nightmares_."

Even though his memories were nothing but a mere collection of blasphemies and farces, I wanted to look into it more. In his head I saw a schism of puzzle pieces that were warring to be independent yet together at the same time, and I knew these pieces fit. I was watching them backwards, slowly falling, tumbling away from the completed image. I was also assembling the puzzle, bit by bit, as he enlightened me.

He grinned at me with his rosy lips peeled back and exposing his white teeth to the air. "Oh, you would, _Walter_, would you not? Come hither and let me show thee," he replied to me with deep sensuality in his soft voice. I stepped towards him, and looked up into his abyssal eyes. They locked me there. My gaze was fixated in his, and for a brief moment I began to believe his eyes, brighter than any emerald, intensified. He suddenly clutched my body, and then my clammy hands in his own. Then pain surged through my body, and I was thrown into oblivion.

The memory I had been shoved violently into was hardly pleasant. Sheogorath, gingery long hair and all, was pacing back in forth in front of the bedroom door. His eyes were profusely bloodshot, and his hair was unkempt. He had the appearance of someone who hadn't slept in days, but it was obvious this was the same day the chaos happened. His clothes were the same as far as I could tell, and it was still very dark in his dwelling. He was faintly lit by candlelight.

The door opened, and filled the hallway with light. Sheogorath shielded his eyes with his right arm, and slowly let his eyes adjust. His pupils contracted violently from the iris and became a beady little dot. One of the more petite guards emerged from the light. He was about as thin as Sheogorath proportion wise. The guard exhaled sharply. He hesitated for a moment. "Well," the lanky man in armor said in a relatively young-sounding voice, "she's torn up pretty bad. The poor gal might not be able to have children after this. After examining her magical presence, as well as Terence's, I have come to the conclusion you were very right about your accusation. Her own magicka reserves are wracked. His magical presence is all over her. We'll inform her parents about this misfortune, but she can't be taken home. She must stay in bed or she runs the risk of going into shock."

Sheogorath gazed at the guard wearily. "Don't worry. I'll take care of her," he replied in a tiny voice that was quite broken. He cleared his throat, and bowed to the guard as he trotted off to tell Zarrexaij's parents. Sheogorath promptly entered the room, and closed the door behind him. Zarrexaij was laying on the left side of his bed with her eyes rolled back into her head. Her breath was wheezy, and her skin had a remarkable pallor about it. There was a linen placed between her and the bed. It was stained with blood, though not my much. I figured the guard stopped the bleeding with magic.

Sheogorath stepped up to the left side of the bed, lit by gentle candlelight from the candlesticks on each side, and kneeled. He reached over for Zarrexaij's hands and took them in his own. "Are you awake?" he asked her in a whisper. Her head lolled towards his direction. She neither said nothing, nor opened her eyes, but nodded her head. She emitted a very soft groan of pain. Sheogorath frowned, and climbed onto the bed with her. He curled up as tightly as he could, and carefully brought himself closer to her. After a period of time of no movement, they both fell asleep, and the image floated away.

I assume it was morning now. Light beamed into the room and illuminated the contents of the room. The candles had long since been out, and the wax had begun, overnight, to drip off the candleholders. Sheogorath was still curled next to Zarrexaij. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and he squinted as his eyes focused on the bright morning light. He sat up in bed, yawned, stretched, and then abruptly slipped off the bed. I watched him undress himself, redress himself in a clean robe, and return to Zarrexaij's side.

I watched him just sit there, gazing at her with admiring eyes. It was quite some while before she ever roused. Hours must have past until she finally opened her eyes. She looked at him with a bit of confusion, and slowly sat up. "Don't sit up," he warned her gently. He addressed her with a warm smile. She stared at him with her head tilted slightly. Zarrexaij questioned Sheogorath, "Why not?"

His forehead and eyebrows creased. He stuttered a little on his words, "You don't remember?" She shook her head. "Well," Sheogorath started, sighing shallowly, "you were…violated by Terence last night. I was told that I'm supposed to take care of you. You aren't supposed to get out of bed quite yet; you were torn pretty badly. I'm afraid you might slip off into shock, and perhaps even death." Zarrexaij still looked fairly bemused, but she nodded to denote her understanding. She slid back to her original position and laid her head on the fluffy pillow.

There was a rapid session of knocks on the front door. Sheogorath groaned and stood up. "What is it now?" he sighed under his breath unenthusiastically. My mind's eye followed him closely, watching him weave around corners, stalking like an irritable predator until he stepped into the den and opened the door. Staring up at him was this _thing_ hidden in a raggedy brown robe. The hood on the robe was up, and covered most of the face of the person. All I could really see was just the nose and the mouth. The nose was large, not unlike Sheogorath's aristocratic own, and a wide mouth with thin, red lips. The skin was a light gold, much like Zarrexaij's.

"I was sent here to check up on young lady Zarrexaij. May I come in?" the elf asked, whose voice was very much a male's. Sheogorath nodded silently and moved to let what I assumed was a healer in. What I thought was an elf stepped in. He was carrying a burlap sack full of _something_. The elf then asked him impatiently, "Where is she?" Sheogorath sighed and led him to the bedroom.

Sheogorath opened the door for the healer and allowed him inside. The healer padded to Zarrexaij's side and sat on his knees. She turned her heads towards him slowly. "Kaludralthus," she uttered weakly, and brought a hand to the side of his face. Sheogorath's eyes narrowed slightly and pricked with acrid jealousy. Kaludralthus smiled feebly. "I was told to examine you, and heal any injuries I find," he informed her quietly.

Sheogorath's countenance grew more unpleasant as he watched the healer carefully peeled the blanket off of his patient. The elf took off his hood and revealed his thick, long blond hair that was tied back. Then, I observed him prudently lifting up her robe. Sheogorath exhaled sharply, and asked, "What's the meaning of that?" The healer's lips peeled back in a smile as he answered, "It's completely necessary. I need to see her injuries. You want her better, do you not?"

Sheogorath sighed again, and replied, "I do. I do." Zarrexaij made no objections as the healer searched her sex for injuries. Her master, Sheogorath, continued tensing up, scowling as he watched him. The healer found several bruises on her thighs, her weighty buttocks, and many dangerously close to her delicate feminine flower. Occasionally the healer would frown, and inhale sharply, as if shocked by her multiple injuries. The outer petals of her sex were slightly torn, and in both places they met, they were scabbed. The healer stopped to grimace as he pressed gently on her inner sexual lips and hence made her blood seep from badly-clotted wounds. The opening was very much torn and ragged. Whatever filmy covering it once had, had been punctured violently. The final examination he had was sliding two fingers inside, and gently using the other hand to put pressure on her womb.

"Does that feel tender?" he asked her softly. Zarrexaij blinked her eyes. She replied, "A little." The healer exhaled, and withdrew his fingers. They were covered with fresh blood. "Do you have a water pump outside?" the healer asked Sheogorath in a queasy voice. The master mage nodded and specified, "The water pump is behind the house on the dirt clearing." The healer nodded and quickly headed outside the room. The apprentice and master began conversing.

"You know him?" Sheogorath interrogated her. Zarrexaij wasn't slow at all to reply. "Yes," she responded calmly, "he's a family friend." Her master-turned-lover stepped into the room. "How are you feeling?" he queried, walking up to where the healer once was. She gazed up at his standing form. "I'm hungry," she replied brokenly. By the sounds of it, she was thirsty, too. Sheogorath grinned at her tenderly. It was a little nervous and awkwardly wide. "I'll get you something after the healer comes back," he cooed to her.

It wasn't long before the healer returned, either. He returned shortly after Sheogorath's promise of food and drink to the parched Zarrexaij. The healer's hands were still dripping. He entered the room with a quick stride, and stopped by Sheogorath. "Are you her lover or something?" the healer asked curiously. The response from Sheogorath was flustered. Then he blushed. He replied, "No. I'm her instructor." The healer nodded.

The healer now addressed Zarrexaij. "You have sustained several injuries. At this point I think the internal injuries are so great you may not be able to properly have children. If you conceive, I thoroughly expect you to either have a miscarriage or give birth to a stillborn. I'll report back to your family," he told her matter-of-factly. He seemed surprisingly calm about it all. He then bowed to Zarrexaij and Sheogorath, and left.

"Will you get me something now?" Zarrexaij asked her master. Sheogorath smiled toothily. "Of course you may," he replied, and exited the room to fetch her some food and beverage. And the memory faded out.


	15. Dysphoria

'Bout time I updated again.

* * *

"What have I become/  
My sweetest friend/  
Everyone I know/  
Goes away in the end/  
You could have it all/  
My empire of dirt/  
I will let you down/  
I will make you hurt"  
Nine Inch Nails, "Hurt"

* * *

"We've spent far too long in this room," I mumbled harshly under my breath, my teal eyes dancing on his slender figure which was standing quite stolidly but his face was still grinning at me emptily nonetheless. The semicircle grin that exposed what might as well be gleaming fangs dimpled his freckled cheeks and moved the moustache and sides of his vibrant red goatee. It was far too wide to be a sincere or sane grin. I opted for both. He spoke in a controlled voice, "Not any more than usual." He paused to take a breath. Sheogorath sat on the oval altar platform. "I was always waiting for her," he said in a seductively despondent tone. I stepped over to him and sat beside him. My right arm pressed against his left. I replied matter-of-factly, "Yes, I know that." 

And I did. Melancholically he sighed. His head turned towards me and his eyes scrutinized me. "Zarrexaij would bring me such dear gifts. No, I would never accept them. I never deserved them at all," he explained to me in a voice so delicate his vocal chords shattered it. I looked at him compassionately. "Waiting for her _to do what_ or in general?" I questioned him. I laid my right hand on his left knee. He shivered beneath my touch. "Waiting for her to come," he told me solemnly, "but no. Why could she not hearken to me?" I gazed at him strangely for his rhetorical question. I interrogated him, "What… what do you mean?"

"She was rebellious towards me. I loathed her wretched depression. I stood by and watched her wither. There was not a thing I could do. In the end…_I DON'T REMEMBER_!" he keened hoarsely. Sheogorath buried his face in his deathly pale, shaking hands that brilliantly deceived his physical and psychological age. He turned completely away from me. I touched his left shoulder. I soothed him as best as I could in my own husky voice, "Don't be perturbed. Start where you left off, please. Don't give up. You're doing just fine."

"What will you take from me, Walter?" he asked me in a teary-eyed voice. I sighed. He turned around slightly to face me. His face was still concealed, but a single eyebrow and eye was peaking out between the index and middle fingers. The green eye watered. "What?" I asked him bemusedly. He never really answered that question with words. I think Sheogorath heard it though.

I slid closed to his backside. I wrapped my arms around his torso, and I felt his eyes burning paths of sight on my own spine. I was tired. Thusly, I laid my head down in his lap with my eyes feeling as heavy as the ebony from the various mines of Morrowind. I still felt his unforgiving eyes boring into me. Sheogorath sighed. Gingerly, he began to stroke the sensitive skin of the nape of my neck. My skin convulsed under his touch. I was slowly being seduced by his gently caressing. But, his touch on me was slowly getting firmer. It got up to the point his stroking became painful.

His touch spread to my back, and I clenched my teeth to hold back yelps of pain of chafing skin. He softly moaned. I knew he was enjoying this. Then, I felt his short but sharp finger nails rake against my skin. Finally, I howled in pain, but he held me down. His pleasured cacophony crescendoed as he broke my skin. I thrashed in his grasp, but it only served to arouse him more. His freakish endowment was stiff against my head. I cringed, knowing, or believing to know, what would happen next.

Sheogorath picked me up with the care of a mother and violently threw me onto the altar. He quickly crawled up my body. The air smelt of burning ozone, and the air was sizzling noisily. The noise steadily grew in volume, and became a buzzing, hissing sound. I realized the sound was becoming from Sheogorath, whose hair was becoming wilder. He opened his mouth slightly.

His lips pressed up against mine, and the room abruptly erupted with bluish-white light. Large sparks of electricity briefly jumped from our bodies and crackled as it hit solid surfaces. He writhed atop of me. His hands were on the stone of the altar. I pressed upwards, but I was met only by his body too willing to become one with mine. I then returned the kiss, wincing as the spark surged though me. I didn't particularly want to, but I had to calm him. My effort was in vain. He was still squirming, and peppered my lips with vile, lustful kisses. "I was once the one resisting," he whispered into my left ear breathily.

Sheogorath kissed my mouth again. His fevered movement against me slowly turned into a frenzied motion of desire. I felt myself losing hope. Nothing I could do would relieve his efforts, and I did not want him hurt or mad at me. "Dear, stop being so damned coy," he begged of me. He then profanely teased my neck with romantic kisses and bites. I realized my body was not with my mind. I was responding most favorably to him. Before I knew it, his hands rolled back my robe.

"Oh god," I cried futilely, "OH GOD! No, Sheogorath, _no!_" He had unfastened his belt and pulled his pants down. I gritted my teeth. "Oh, but you may do so to me," he hissed. I whimpered, and he laid a finger over my lips. He comforted me, "Shush and it will be easier." I could have easily run away, I believe. He was pinioning me by his own body and mind. My body was betraying me. Finally, I gave in. "Then let it be," I murmured. He grinned, laid down on me, and continued giving me fouled kisses.

My vision seemed to black out, or I simply zoned out. Perhaps that was what Sheogorath did with me as I did the same to him. I could feel my nerves reacting to his loathly touch, but nothing clicked on in my head. My eyes were on Sheogorath, but they didn't seem focused. Everything was blurry and snaky in my sight. Perhaps I had been crying. I wasn't there enough to know. I felt Sheogorath's pants on my neck, and I knew he had done what he had much earlier did to me. I wrapped my arms around him absent-mindedly. My ears faintly picked up the sound of him sobbing. He rolled off me, and pulled up his pants. I sighed, and things seemed to focus again.

Sheogorath was standing with his back facing me. "I, I'm sorry about what I did," I told him as I sat up. My voice came out colder than I wished it to. It was several moments before he responded. Finally, he turned around, and looked at me with his narrowed eyes. "Is that what you call it: _sorry_?" he spat at me furiously. His eyebrows furrowed, and all the lines in his face were made only ten times more obvious. His eyes seemed to have increased in brilliance. The air seemed to turn stale and stiff. It felt as if all the air and power in the room was being sucked in by Sheogorath. Sparks began to flutter around Sheogorath, and I knew it was not terribly judicious to upset him any further.

"I'm sure there's more in your head. Why don't you show me more memories?" I coaxed him. His countenance softened up. He sighed, and walked up to the spot I was sitting at. He sat down beside me. Sheogorath reached for my hand. I held my breath as his icy hands touched mine. Pain overtook me, and I finally exhaled as my body smarted very sharply. I felt my entire body go cold as my mind was slowly sucked into his.

_I took care of her for four days_, he informed me as the curtain covered his memories was lifted up. Sheogorath was sitting at the side of the bed covered in the dyed maroon and black blankets nearest Zarrexaij. She was laying under them. It appeared to be the same damn day the previous memory was on. They were talking to each other.

"When will I be able to get back to my lessons?" she asked him curiously. Zarrexaij sat up slightly. Sheogorath replied, "Soon enough." He paused, and then asked her a question. "Want me to lay the pillows behind you so you are more comfortable?" he asked her amenably. She nodded, and Sheogorath proceeded to prop her up by placing the soft, fluffy-looking white pillows. She smiled at him.

Zarrexaij told him, "I hate being stuck in bed. I want to get up and move." Sheogorath grinned back at her, and his eyes twinkled eerily in the noon's bright light. "Not yet," he told her softly. A corner of her mouth frowned. She reached over for one of Sheogorath's hands. His body tensed up, and his face faintly blushed. Zarrexaij laughed weakly. "What are you embarrassed about, Master?" she asked him innocently. He stammered for a few moments.

"I,I…I told you to stop calling me 'Master'," Sheogorath corrected her quite embarrassedly. Zarrexaij tugged gently on his hand. He looked at her quizzically. "Yes?" he asked he curiously. He lifted an eyebrow. She cajoled him, "Please, lay with me." With her other hand, she patted the spot right of her. Sheogorath stared at the spot and turned scarlet. "Isn't that," and he paused, his tongue caught on words, "a little intimate?" She laughed feebly once more. "Don't be silly or coy. Come over here," she said.

Sheogorath moved over her body and onto the right side of her. He looked incredibly nervous laying beside her, and refused to look up at her. Finally, Zarrexaij turned on her side to face him and lifted his face for him to look at her. His face was now level with hers, but his eyes refused to look at hers. "Why are you so deeply shamed?" she asked him inquisitively. A bit too curious, mayhap. He tried escaping her touch, but she quickly caught him. His blush perpetuated.

"Relationships with apprentices aren't appropriate," he cited at her, albeit halfheartedly. It sounded horribly rehearsed. Zarrexaij cocked her head at him. "Oh," she said, "I see." She smiled at him awkwardly, and her eyes burnt of a cheery flame. Sheogorath's eyes were full of guilt. "Don't you want to touch me?" she asked him smoothly. His face warred with mixed emotions, of desire and revulsion, of denial and acceptance.

I found it ironic that he could touch her the night of her rape, but now he could not. Finally, Sheogorath reached out and touched her smooth, golden face. He nervously and jerkily stroked a cheek, then stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. He quickly withdrew his hand and looked down in shame. Zarrexaij frowned, and lifted his face again. She repeated what he had done to her on him. There was pain in Sheogorath's eyes as her thumb seductively stroked his lip. "Please," he begged of her, "don't." She idly used her other hand to play with his hair.

Sheogorath brushed her hand away. He bit his upper lip, and leaned inwards towards her. He planted his rosy lips on her own. His eyes rolled back a bit, and he closed his eyes. She returned his kiss firmly, and I watched her stroke his back with the hand that was playing with his hair. Occasionally Sheogorath would twitch. After a few moments the kiss broke. He was still flushed, but the flush had extended down to his neck and the very top of his chest that I could barely see.

Zarrexaij smiled at him, and Sheogorath, though nervously, embraced her, and laid her head on his chest. He was extremely gentle with her. I asked myself, _Why is he so damned uncomfortable?_ I'm sure Zarrexaij asked herself the same. Nonetheless, I was not pulled away. Zarrexaij looked up at him. "I'm hungry," she stated urgently. Sheogorath sighed. "Of course you are," he remarked without sarcasm. He grinned down at her, and loosened his embrace. He then removed himself from her side. He disappeared outside the room, and the memory faded…


	16. The Diaries of a Madman

Oh my. I'm so ridiculously evil.

* * *

"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."  
H.P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu"

* * *

I gasped. Sheogorath had pulled me out of his memories suddenly, and it was quite untimely. As always, I wanted to know more, but Sheogorath wouldn't allow me. He was getting more and more evasive. Now, Sheogorath was hunting for repressed memories, and they weren't coming out of the nooks and crannies very easily. I would have pitied him if I was not in the same situation as he. I was lost. I was looking for Zarrexaij, who, at that point, I believed to be held captive somewhere here. Suddenly, my Daedric companion stood up, and headed outside. I cursed under my breath, and followed quickly behind him.

The hallway-or should I say the way to hell? - was, appearance wise, the same as it was last time. However, eerie sounds had filled my ears. The hallway sound like it was breathing. There was a faint beating of the hallway that was more of a deep vibration than an actual noise. It sounded like the stressed beating of a broken heart. Sheogorath was walking to a door I swore we entered earlier. I followed him perplexedly, but followed him none the less through the portal to another layer of hell.

The room was _all wrong_. It wasn't just the weird geometry of the horrendous room; everything but Sheogorath and I were upside-down. What should be on the floor was on the ceiling, and even the three doorways were closer to the ceiling rather than the floor. We came from the one in the center, the northern door, yet we were somehow on the "floor". The room, even though common logic should dictate that it be rectangular, was some sort of odd half-sphere, half-prism shape that was ridged. It was painted white, but the light of the candle on the "ceiling" gave it a deep jade tint. It was dark.

As I gazed around the room, Sheogorath began walking towards the very center of the room. I realized my assumption about the objects were wrong. There was a single, large chest in the middle. I sauntered up to him as he reached it, and stood over it. He slowly opened it, and it groaned. His expression turned into one of puzzlement. I looked inside the chest, and there was nothing but untidily stacked papers in it. He stared at the contents inside. I picked up of the papers. There was something written on it in ink. The handwriting was unbelievably neat. It read:

"WOE TO THE ONE WHO DID NOT READ THIS.

WOE TO THE ONE WHO MADE FALSE PROMISES.

WOE TO THE ONE WHO HATH DECEIVED ME.

WOE TO THEE."

I creased my wrinkled forehead. The message of the paper puzzled me. "What's this?" I queried Sheogorath, showing him the paper. He took it politely from my hands, and gazed at it himself. He shrugged, and then rummaged through the papers. I too dug through the chest, and pulled out another interesting paper. It appeared to be a journal of some kind. This one read:

"4th, Turdas of Frostfall, Year ----

It stormed again. If it wasn't so damned cold, I would have sat outside. I love the rain. It makes me feel so peaceful.

She's getting better. I allowed her to walk today. I was very loath to do it, but she insisted on it. All my desire is to delight her. However, my want, no, yearning for just a meager smiling seems futile. She is happy sometimes, yes, but oft she just lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling. I often do ponder what goes through her mind. She is so sad. When I can lend an ear to her, she tells me horrible things that make me feel disgusting. Yet…I realize that I am not unlike her. I too have melancholy. Does she really love me? This I wonder as each hour passes by. When she is not talking, walking around, or eating, she is usually sleeping. And I watch her sleep. She does it so ridiculously often, yet there is something inherently endearing about it. I feel so guilty for engaging in such physical intimacy…although it's not much; I still feel the need for penance. I am with her constantly, so I can not properly absolve myself.

I feel like I'm running on for far too long, so I shall end this. Zarrexaij rouses."

I stood in pensive silence. "Are you sure you don't know what it is?" I asked him, showing Sheogorath again by forcing the paper in his face. He glared at me. "Why, art thou completely blinded? Can thou not see it is bloodied?" he asked me in a mystified tone of voice. I blinked at him with my teal eyes. I looked back at the journal, and then shivered. It was now smeared and stained with blood. I couldn't read it now. "I'm…sorry. I swore there was something written on it," I replied, frightened by the appearance of blood. He smiled.

He told me softly, as if he were talking to a child, though hardly condescendingly, "This place is playing with thy mind. After all, 't brings dreams to life." He continued searching through the papers. There was silence. Then, I asked him in a small voice, "This place is getting stronger, isn't it?" He sighed, and laid his hand on the lining of the chest's womb. "Walter…I truly do not know," he answered. His countenance seemed to deepen and darken. He frowned and pursued his lips. I picked up a paper from the top of the now disorganized stack.

It was relatively boring. There was nothing written on it. I threw it back, and turned to watch Sheogorath watch it float down. He grabbed it quickly. He examined it closely, and I knew that it said something interesting. His eyebrows rose, and his forehead wrinkled. I tilted my head and interrogated him about it, "What's the matter?" He looked at me gravely, and then passed me the paper. I read it silently to myself, and sighed. The entire note was written in odd dark red ink that blotted the paper frequently. I gulped, and prepared for a gloomy message. The words were crammed together and difficult to read. The writing was very sketchy and panicky. This note read:

"ThesorrowthesorrowthesorrowwillneverthesorrowwillneverwillnevergoawaygoawayItwillneverendnoitwillneverendWhycan'titjustgoawaygoawayWhywon'ttheworldwhywon'ttheworldstoptorturing meSTOPTORTURINGME?

I AM _NOT_ MAD!

i hate it."

I gazed at Sheogorath, then back at the note. "Did you write this?" I asked him quietly. He sighed, and shook his head. "I…I…I don't quite remember," he replied to me grimly. The tension in the room was growing unbearable. I felt like screaming like, well, a madman. I placed it back in the chest and exhaled. "I want out of here," I whined. My voice echoed a bit around the detestable geometry of the room. Sheogorath looked into my eyes directly. He then gracefully stood up. His eyes gleamed of defiance, and he smirked. "Take one last look at the papers," he offered with that menacing smile of his.

I bent over and picked up another page. I massaged the bridge of my nose between the thumb and middle finger of my right hand. I began reading it. The handwriting was neat, and it was written in black. I read:

"Sire and Lady of the house,

I write to you to ask the permission to take your daughter's hand in marriage. I am most certain I am not a lone suitor by any means, so I will attempt to persuade you that I am worthy.

First, I am notably aware of my soured reputation among the village. Let me assure you the rumors are not true. The quivering rumors are merely a product of misunderstanding. With the unknown comes irrational fear.

Secondly, I am a well-off man. It is not just not through inheritance that I am wealthy; as you probably known, I am a master of the 'Order by which is paid in sum by the guild and students alike. I shall eagerly support your daughter and her eccentric will to learn.

I do realize she is of meri descent, and shall most naturally outlive me. I am nearing the thinnest threads of my life, this I know. With the few decades I may have left, I still have time (blessed god of time) to leave a scratch mark on Nirn.

I promise you her happiness.

Truly yours,"

I frowned at the end of the letter. The signature was greatly smudged, and impossible to read. But, only a fool would not know who wrote it. I looked up from the letter to the standing figure of Sheogorath. He was still beaming sinisterly at me. "Did you ever…?" I questioned him. He tilted his head to his right and replied, "I can't recollect it at all." His face grew taut with solemnity and thoughtfulness. He began trotting towards the eastern door, and curiously, up the wall! He was standing on the ceiling, and not so much as a hair on his head gravitated towards the floor. He opened the door, but waited for me. Sighing, I trotted towards the eastern wall and place a boot firmly on it. To my amazement, I too was able to walk up the wall.

"This is a very strange place," I commented was I ambled to his side. He tittered, and trod through the doorway. I followed him, but before I went through the door, I heard odd, mad whispers in the room. They were unlike any language I had ever heard, but the speech was very much mortal and familiar. It was a masculine voice that I barely recognized:

"Dekan snekawa jaixerraz dnim sih fo nosirp eth ni!"

I shuddered, and closed the door behind me with a slam. Sheogorath turned to look at me inquiringly, but asked me nothing. The room we were now in was vaguely reminiscent of the old guildhall Sheogorath showed me in his unconscious mind. It was dark, dank, and moldy. The tables were losing the battle against the mold and water that dripped from the cracked mortar of the ceiling. The room had no light, yet it was somehow lit gloomily by greenish-blue light, similar to the glow of the room from whence we just came. It was frigid in here. I could see my smoky breath, as well as Sheogorath's.

I looked at the ground, and the tiles were randomly blackened and veined by mold and strange ivies. I did not wish to know. As we walked further into the western side of the room, it began to smell. The smell was… unique. It's not easy to describe. It reminded me faintly of putrescence hidden poorly by vanilla and musk. It was horrible, and stung the nose badly. Even Sheogorath seemed to be offended, as his nose was slightly wrinkled. The smell got stronger and stronger as well as stranger and stranger as I neared the very western wall where a single impossible rotten window sat useless. The revolting pungency could be tasted in my mouth! It smelled of a thousand graves, soil, mold, cologne, and burnt wood. I heard a briefly shuffling above me.

The wet spot of ceiling above me caved in. A rotten form toppled on me and got caught in my hair. For a split second, I stood there dumbfounded. Then, I began screaming on the top of my lungs, running around, trying to get the wretched form off me! "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" I screeched, batting the damnable form on me, desperate to free my body of it. Sheogorath chased after me, but was not quite being able to catch up to me in my terrified fury. In the corner of my blurry, tearing eyes, I saw him stop.

"Stop running around like a fool!" he barked at me. I halted, and stared at him. He sighed irritably, and stomped over to me. He grabbed the form and ripped it from my hair. Oh, how that hurt. It wasn't a terribly big clump, but damn, did it hurt! He dropped it and flailed his hands in the air in disgust. I finally got to see what had fallen on me. It was the curled form of a very decomposed corpse. It was probably around my size in real life. It had somehow been mummified, even in the humidity of this room. There were various slashes in the tough flesh. My stomach churned. I turned away from Sheogorath and vomited what little I had in there.

Then, I hoped to the gods that there was nothing else as horrible or as disgusting as the _thing_ that had fallen on me in this labrynth.


	17. Fester

* * *

"Now I am somewhere I am not supposed to be, and I can see things I know I really shouldn't see/  
And now I know why, now, now, now I know why/  
Things aren't as pretty/  
On the inside"  
Nine Inch Nails, "Only"

* * *

I wiped my vomit-covered lips on my sleeve, and wrinkled my nose at the acrid taste of bile in the back of my now sore throat. I turned to face Sheogorath, who was staring at the mummy. His curiosity almost seemed to be a grave horror; his face was ashy. He turned his head towards me, and spoke quite a controlled tone. "I loathe this room; I want to leave," he said to me in an eerie, calm voice. His eyes, for the first time, expressed something greatly, other than anger or sorrow. They contained a wild, animalistic dread that made his eyes light up with pure madness. His lips were slightly pursed together. I asked him, "What's wrong?" Sheogorath just shook his head and said nothing in reply to my question. He walked past me to the door on the south wall. I sighed and followed his noisy boots on the tile.

We opened the door, entered the room, and absorbed the sights inside. It was another hallway previously unexplored. The walls were covered in some red, gooey, almost velvety to the touch material that smelled rather foul. It was well-lit by some unseen force. My stomach churned again at the stench. There were sixteen doors on each side of the long hallway that had a dead end. Each door was made of some kind of steel. Some of the doors were rusted; others were nearly as shiny as mithril. Sheogorath investigated the first door on the right. He turned the wooden door knob slowly, and I heard the mechanics inside it click.

The door whined open slowly. Sheogorath stepped inside. I too made my way inside the room. I closed the door behind me, and turned to gaze at the room. It appeared to be the library of some deranged sorcerer. There were several shelves in the room made of ebony. There were two columns in the large room. Both columns extending halfway into the room. On the other side of the room, was a desk, a small bed, and a large table with a mortar and pestle, a retort, a calcinatory, an alembic, and a skull on it. The shelves held plenty of books. I ambled up to the first row on the right and opened a black leather bound book. Oddly, it read:

"Long since the beginning of sentient species has there been folklore about suicide and the souls of suicides thereafter. Some believe that the soul of the sorrow-stricken or anger-overtaken are doomed to walk among Mundus forever. Others, specifically the Order (later known as the Psijic Order), claim these souls go to another plane of existence known as 'Oblivion' because of their 'bad change'. Regardless, they are said to stagnate, and forever have their fatal flaw. Some might say these souls are a permanent black hole of some sort. They are intent on causing harm to the unbeknownst, and draw in energy from their surroundings. Of course, there is little acknowledged research in Guild of Mages that supports these claims…."

I realized this was the research paper I had written for my Journeyman paper for the Mages' Guild. I closed it softly, and placed it back on the shelf. A cold sweat crept down my chilled spine. Sheogorath stepped towards me. "It looks like you just saw a ghost," he whispered in my ear. If his voice wasn't so quieted, I would have said he was jeering, but no. I craned my head to look at him. He was not smiling. He was still remarkably pale. His lips almost had a bluish tint, in fact. In the reflection of the golden buttons of his waistcoat, I saw myself a pale gold.

Sheogorath then said to me, "Don't you want to see more of me?" I nodded apprehensively. He took my left hand in his right. As our fingertips touched, a wave of pain settled over my body, and as he reached for the other I was completely engulfed into his vast mind. My mind-self emitted the mental equivalent of a sigh. He reached out to me with his mind, _She recovered fairly quickly._ _She continued coming for class. I continued her instruction._ The images in his mind opened slowly. I waited for the memory to come into focus as the shell of repression came off.

It opened up to Zarrexaij sitting on the left side Sheogorath's bed, facing the window on that side. She was dressed in a beautiful burgundy robe that was obviously intended for a male. Sheogorath was standing up in the center of the room, dressed in a merlot red robe laced with a deep maroon. He was smiling, laughing, even, and Zarrexaij was as well. All the color had been restored to her cheeks and lips, and she looked positively radiant. Her eyes danced on Sheogorath's form. I heard their pleasant voices.

"Hilarity aside, I think it's about time I test your abilities," Sheogorath told her in between laughing about things I didn't quite catch. Zarrexaij stopped her giggling but her smile stayed. She nodded and placed her hands in her lap. He ambled up to her and sat beside her. She asked him, "When?" Sheogorath tilted his head and thought for a few moments before answering. "Well," he replied, stroking his gingery red goatee, "how about later today? It's still the morn." She was complacent with this.

She laid her head on his shoulder and cooed. Sheogorath sighed, and caressed her chin. "How about in a few minutes?" she interrogated him excitedly. He grinned at her, and he nodded in acceptance. She turned her head to kiss his cheek and watched him turn a faint red. She chuckled in her throat. Zarrexaij then kissed the side of his mouth. He shied away from her slightly as she kissed his lips and attempted to crawl into his lap.

She tittered a tad bit. Sheogorath's blush was now more pronounced. He laid down on the bed. Zarrexaij copied this. I watched the two curl up and cuddle. They laid together for a few more moments and sat up. They exited the room together, holding hands, and entered the classroom area. Zarrexaij took a deep breath as she stepped to the middle of the room, and Sheogorath shut the door behind them as he too stepped in. His countenance morphed into a very concentrated, pensive frown.

"So what area?" she asked him curiously, brushing her robe off. Sheogorath promptly answered, "The magic I want to test you on is on the destructive forces. If I hurt you, say so." Zarrexaij nodded, and meditated. Sheogorath closed his eyes and muttered inaudible, strange words I could hardly put into letters, let alone repeat. After about a minute of this peculiar pray, he opened his eyes. "Go," he announced sternly, which with his soft voice, sounded quite odd. Tension began building in the room.

A frost spell sparkled between the slender hands of Zarrexaij. Meanwhile, a similar shock spell developed and glowed between Sheogorath's open hands. The spells, with a few hand gestures, left their hands, and exploded with magicka upon impact of each other's body. Sheogorath did not do so much as flinch as the icy spell engulfed his body, but Zarrexaij winced slightly as the shock spell crackled on her body. Another spell quickly left her hands, and the destructive spell vanished. Sheogorath's hands glistened with yet another spell I identified as a Resistance spell. He cast it, and Zarrexaij's body began glistening with a blue glow.

Her nostrils flared, and, whether she realized it or not, cast a Paralyze spell on her master. He froze in space instantaneously as the spell came in contact with his body. Realizing her error, she cast Dispel on him. He blinked, and looked at her with irritability. His nostrils too flared, and he prepared another spell, slightly bigger than his last. Zarrexaij, meanwhile, made one of her own. Both spells were cast at the same time, and thus negated each other as they met in a _pop_. Zarrexaij gritted her teeth, and Sheogorath softly tittered.

"Too slow," he remarked with amusement on his behalf. I watched Zarrexaij prepare yet another spell, a larger, more elaborate one. For a brief second, the tension in her body vanished. The spell was released from her hands, and it hurled through the air noisily. The sound was almost ethereal. It hit Sheogorath with a _fizz,_ and the type of spell it was, was revealed. She had used his signature element, spark, along with a Weakness to Magicka spell. Sheogorath emitted an "oof" on its collision. Zarrexaij smiled in delight that her spell had worked. He grit his teeth as the electricity danced painfully on his body. Perhaps the spell had worked too much, because her smile faded.

The sparks continued their promenade on Sheogorath's aged body. He caterwauled in agony. Zarrexaij cast Dispel on him and sprinted up to him. He sighed, and his body, which had grown taut in pain, was released. He looked at her. "You did well," he told her in a weary voice, "but I have to lay down until the weakness goes away." He rubbed his temples and wandered to the door. Zarrexaij followed him. "Will you be okay?" she asked him in a broken voice. Sheogorath nodded tiredly and replied, "I just need to rest."

Sheogorath opened the door, and sluggishly ambled into the hallway. I watched him stumble in a fatigue-created stupor. Zarrexaij took his hand and led him into the bedroom. She opened the bedroom door and slowly led him to the bed. With his eyes half-open, he turned to shut the door and then walked to the bed. He quite literally fell into bed and positioned himself towards the middle. He curled up into a vaguely fetal position on his side. His body heaved with a deep breath. His apprentice quickly crawled onto the bed beside him. Zarrexaij kiss the nape of his neck and wrapped her arms around his slender form. Already the room was filled with the melody of the rolling of the gentle snoring of Sheogorath. Finally, the heavy eyelids of Zarrexaij closed.

The memory faded out, then back in. Sheogorath's green eyes opened slowly. He shifted and turned his body gently. The sleeping form of Zarrexaij grunted. Then Sheogorath carefully removed himself from her arms. He wrapped his arms around her and cuddled her close to his body. The room was slightly darker than it was before. The candles a few feet from the bed were unlit. I figured it was around dusk.

I watched Sheogorath stroke her back nervous. His hands came across the tie around her neck that kept the robe together. His eyebrows lowered and his forehead wrinkled. Then his expression softened, and half his face split into a devilish grin. He withdrew his hands from the knot and frowned. "No, I better not. That would be aberrant," he muttered under his breath. He sighed, and wrapped his arms around her in an embrace. Her body shifted underneath his loving grasp. She made a faint noise, and turned around partially in his arms.

Sheogorath sighed, and gently kissed her sweaty forehead. She roused from her slumber slowly. She yawned and stretched in his arms. "Hello," Zarrexaij groggily said in between the yawn. Sheogorath blushed, and he simpered at her because of the awkwardness of the situation. I watched him hug her closed and rubbed her back. He then released her from his clutches, though he still had an arm around her. "You know," Sheogorath told her faintly, "you are infinitely endearing when you are sleeping." Zarrexaij grinned up at him. Out of the blue, she made a strange remark about her dream.

"I had the strangest dream last night. You were dead… but _not_ dead, if that makes sense. And your skin… it was gone. Your body looked burnt, and in the sepulcher, you awoke on the floor. Your eyes opened, and you took a breath, but there was no pulse in your body. Some ghost, or spirit of some type, spoke to you. Then… the thunderstorm! The lightning! The dreamspeak! The fog! The madness of it all! And behind it all…was you… but it _wasn't_ you. Yet… I was absent, dead, even, but somehow watching it all unfold."

Sheogorath smiled nervously, and tittered. "It was probably just your mind reliving the guilt for tiring me," he teased her warmly. Then he kissed her forehead, and hugged her, and it was forgotten.


	18. Vicarious Suffering

* * *

"Why can't we not be sober/  
I just want to start this over./  
Why can't we drink forever./  
I just want to start things over."  
Tool, "Sober"

* * *

I regained consciousness in my own mind. I blinked my eyes and exhaled. Sheogorath released my hands and began wandering off. He walked up to the next bookshelf row and took a book off the shelf. Meanwhile, I scrutinized the spines of the book. Some of them looked brand new. Others were worn, some holey, and a small portion were covered in dust. One slender book spine caught my eye. The book stuck out far towards me. I slid it out from the shelf and opened it to the cover page gently. The smell of the book wasn't musty at all. It smelt fairly new, and probably hadn't been opened until now. I closed it gently. The cover too was covered in dust, and I wiped the dust off with the right sleeve of my robe. The title of it was "A History of Madness: Tamriel". 

I opened it to the actual first page of the book. In tiny letters, it read:

"Since the creation of life on Nirn, we have known of an indescribable force in the mind that drives the actions of rare, special individuals where there is no physical explanation of the chaos they bring. The force has many names, many descriptions, but the one concise description that it can be given is 'madness'. 'Madness', or mental instability, has external and internal causes. Its existence is attributed to Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Insanity. However, the _causes_ are greatly unknown. Some attribute it to soul possession; others, an imbalance in the mind. Very seldom is the finger directly pointed at Sheogorath as its source in every case.

The earliest descriptions of madness either describe it as something 'divine' or a 'gift', and in some cultures, even as an 'abomination of society' or a 'curse': something to be eradicated. The most primitive, yet conversely, advanced societies, such as the Argonians of the Black Marsh, believe it as a dual nature gift from the gods. The mad are reported as often being extremely creative in such cultures. Ironically, to the beholder of insanity, it is seldom a gift. On the other side of the spectrum, in the very superstitious, xenophobic cultures, the mad are seen as pests, enemies, adversaries, especially in the Dunmeri culture. The mad are more often than not killed. In some cases, they are subjected to torture or imprisoned. It is usually assumed the mad are either Sheogorath worshipers or menaces to society.

The severity of torture of the insane differs from place to place in Tamriel. Some, without any salves or orally-taken sedatives, are lobotomized. Others are subject to public humiliation by being roped to a tree or stump and whipped, branded, and/or stoned in front of a crowd. Because in these societies the insane are not given the same rights as a normal person (otherwise, seen as criminals), it is seen as acceptable for them to die during the torture, let alone go through it. The corpses are rarely given a proper burial. It is not unheard of for a town who tortured a madman to death to parade the body, crucified, through town and, later, let the decomposing body be eaten by dogs."

On the next page, there was a very realistic, colored illustration of a man tied securely to chair. His face was contorted in agony. His ankles and wrists had been tied to the legs and arms of the chair. He was clawing at the arms of the chair. There were two other men in the picture. One was holding a very shiny, sharp object not unlike a narrow knife. The other had a crude, rusted drill in his hands, and was slowly drilling a hole through the madman's head. There was blood running from the right side of the forehead where the drill was. I grimaced. The caption below it read:

"A madman suffering from a lobotomy."

I flipped through the other pages of the book. I came across an illustration of a Breton man _chained_ to a log in front of a crowd. There were guards whipping the man. His head was held down, and there were several welts and slashes on his body from the whips. He was completely naked. His pale body looked emaciated. His shaggy blond hair was wild and unkempt. The caption on the bottom of the illustration, in white letters, was grim:

"A starved Breton madman being publicly flagellated for the amusement of the crowd."

I returned my glance to the illustration. It wasn't quite the same. It took me a few seconds before I realized what was so different about it. The head of the Breton was raised. The hair of the man was a bright but dirty ginger. It was… it was grinning madly at me! It stared at me with its eerie green eyes, and it winked. I blinked and shook my head a little in disbelief. The drawing was back to normal. I promptly shut the book and returned it to its place on the shelf.

I wondered if this was just the trick of my mind, the place playing on my imagination, or if, mayhap, Sheogorath was cruelly messing with my head. I doubted the very latter. He seemed far too concentrated on looking at the books of the shelf ahead of me to realize I had been investigating a book, let alone one over madness. But… I realized Sheogorath is quite intelligent, and could easily be multitasking. However, I still doubted his intervention. I strongly believed, and still believe, it was the labyrinth shaping things from my imagination and making it tangible.

Sheogorath, whilst still reading a book, wandered over to my side. His eyes rose to meet mine, and I shuddered slightly. I felt my body slide into horripilation. He spoke softly, "You wrote this." He showed me the cover, which read "On Pocket Dimensions by Walter Lavartius". I nodded, and confirmed, "Yes. Yes, I did. It was a research paper I when I was still an apprentice in the Guild of Mages. My Conjuration instructor was quite impressed with it. I learned something he didn't." Sheogorath smiled at me. It was one of his wide, nasty grins that I loathed because it freaked me out. "What was that?" he interrogated me curiously.

I cleared my throat. "I learned," I told him matter-of-factly, "that for a pocket dimension to exist, it must have a constant input and output of magicka." I began ranting on. "Because of this, it is very much possible that there are infinite amounts of pocket dimensions in Oblivion. Oblivion itself is a dimension created by the influx of magicka. I imagine that these pocket dimensions could even have their own set law of physics…" I rambled to him rapidly. Sheogorath absorbed this remarkably well. "If you are suggesting this is a pocket dimension," he replied to me informatively, "you would be wrong. Pocket dimensions don't have the ability to be infinite or constantly create, do they? The instability of constantly adding onto the dimension would cause it to collapse on itself. It would be a tiny bubble storing something the size of a universe in that small space. Chaos of this size would have to be contained in something infinitely infinite, namely Oblivion. But if this Oblivion, why am I powerless? Or maybe… mayhap I _still_ have power, but something inside my mind is repressing it." He turned his head and eyes to the ceiling in thought, and fully stroked his goatee. Then he released a great sigh.

"Zarrexaij was right: I was…am weak. 'Stop wallowing in self-pity. Stop pushing me away from you. Stop… stop…stop….stop…stop…stop…stop…stop…stop…STOP! Do you do anything but whine? If you want death so much, do it. Do it, you bloody damn coward. You're just showing me you hate me. Why, why the hell are you crying? It's not like you have real feelings. Sheogorath… I am sorry. I…I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay, Sheogorath?' All anyone does is mock me. And I do nothing about it," he told me miserably, covering his face with his hands. I touched his arm, and he flinched away. "Get your disgusting hands off me. You're all the same; you want one thing." he hissed at me. I frowned and shook my head. I insisted crossly, "It's not like that, Sheogorath! I don't want that from you. You wonder why she ran away? Did you ever come to think the reason why everyone goes away is because you treat them all the same? What the fuck did I ever do to you?" I stood up and glared at him. My fists were clenched so hard they throbbed and turned white.

Sheogorath retorted, "For one, you meddled in affairs you should have never been in. Secondly, you took her away from me. You're just another vile fool. Always trying to remove me." He twitched in fury and began muttering things to himself. I slowly backed away from him. His attention turned back to me. He stood up, and I ran towards the door. "Wait!" Sheogorath exclaimed in sorrow, "Don't leave! I didn't mean it. I don't want to be alone." I heard him snivel as I closed the door, ran to the door across from me, and entered the room. I did not close the door. It was impossibly dark in there. I panted, and rested for a bit. The door slammed shut, and I heard it _click_ as it locked itself.

I began panicking. "Sheogorath?" I asked in a tiny, afraid voice. I heard a gentle shuffling in the room. I shivered and did not know what quite to anticipate, other than an unseen threat. Whatever was in the dark snarled in a voice that was neither human nor beastly. I stumbled to the door and began pounding on it. "Sheogorath!" I screamed, "Let me out!" The sound of its claws clicking on the floor filled my ears, and my bladder began feeling _very_ heavy. I continued banging on the door.

I was much too afraid to listen closely to the silence of the dark. But, I swore I heard the noise of _something_ whirling in the air. The sound was very close by my body. I screamed, and ran blindly in the dark. "SHEOGORATH! DAMN IT!" I cried as I ran into one of the walls. I bit my lip and muffled a yelp of pain. I heard the thing nearing with its paws and claws clattering on the floor. The sound maddeningly filled my mind and ears. I could hear it breathing. I could hear its drool splatter on the floor.

I skittered into the next wall. I felt blood flow from my nose. I could taste it as it dripped down my lips into my open mouth. It was nearing me, that I knew. _Oh gods_, I thought, _just make it quick_. I felt it brush over me. Its skin was cold and slimy. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran back to where I remembered the door was. I pounded on it again. "Sheogorath!" I shouted, terrified of the creature in the room with me.

Finally, the door flung open. I fell into the hallway and scrambled onto my feet. I looked in the room and saw the creature that pursued me. It looked at me with its eyeless, tentacled face. Its appearance was anthropomorphic, yet still very beastly. It was like some bastard whelp of a dragon and dreugh. Its slender, long arms flailed in my direction, yet it did not try to escape the room that contained it. Its barbed tail slapped on the ground. The door then shut and locked. Sheogorath ambled up to me from the other side of the door.

"What took you so long?" I asked him, out of breath. He sighed, and replied to me calmly, "I was looking for you, Walter." The expression on his face was very apologetic. I sighed, and nodded. I bent over a little bit and rest my hands on my knees. "I was quite scared," I stated, looking up at his tall form. I was still shaken from the events that occurred in that room. Sheogorath began ambling off to the next door on this side of the hallway.

"Ack, Sheogorath," I muttered under my breath, following him shortly after. The sound of his boots on the floor sounded like music in its rhythm. I exhaled sharply, as I greatly hated the monotony of going room to room to find Zarrexaij, but I knew it was very much necessary. When he finally turned the wooden doorknob, I inhaled in anticipation. He gently opened it, and let it slide open. It did not creak, nor did it whine. He entered the room quietly. Sheogorath emanated an utterance of surprise. I quickly stepped inside and saw what had surprised him so much.


	19. Juxtaposition

When I wrote the last few paragraphs I was listening to Schism by Tool. How ironical. Har-de-har-har-har. Oh, and when I completed it, I was listening to Only by Nine Inch Nails. Hehehehe….

* * *

"Credulous at best/  
Your desire to believe in/  
Angels in the hearts of men"  
Tool, "Vicarious"

* * *

Inside the room, there was a single-person white bed. Lying on this bed was a white statue of Zarrexaij as she was living. It was sitting up, its arms and hands spread in grief. The hands were bloody. The clothed crotch of the statue was bloody, too, but very much more so. The agonized, stone face was frozen. The eyes were a bit glassy, as if with tears. Its mouth was open as if to begin a shrill wail. Sheogorath neared the bed and knelt. His countenance was sober, almost in a poignant sort of way. I stood in the doorway, watching Sheogorath stare in an ill awe at the statue. His face twitched. I was much too disquieted to say anything at that point to him.

I watched him lay his head on the bed. His arms covered his face. His head was right by her flank. His body shuddered and heaved. However, he produced not even the slightest of noises. I gently shut the door behind me and ambled up to his side. I knelt beside him. I watched his heaving intensify. I couldn't bring myself to speak. All I could do was sit and watch in silence. After minutes of uncomfortable quiet, he spoke to me. "Wherefore does she torture me so? What determined me as malign? What did I do to deserve this? What bizarre type of punishment is this? What makes me so _unworthy_ of mercy?" he asked me, though I suppose it was all rhetorical questions. His eyes were red and watery, and he looked about to rampage. I, without much forethought, replied to his statements, "By now you should very well know the universe is malevolent and iniquitous, and how naïve it is to believe your own heart is not tainted by odium."

He stared at me as if I had slapped them across the face. "And yet," he responded, astonished, "two wrongs don't make a right." I nodded and sighed. "If the world worked that way, Sheogorath, there would be no need for the Daedra to remind us of the perdition of our own world," I stated with the feeling of being numb nagging me. I looked up at the statue, then back to Sheogorath, who appeared to be bitter. He turned his head towards me, though really just stared right through me and said "Then paradise is quite fleeting." "I know," I answered, "it's not particularly right, but in a world of folly nothing ever is."

"I think it's time to show you more," he said, holding out a warm hand towards me. For a few moments, I gawked at it stupidly. Finally, I took it, and pain swathed me. His mind connected with mine almost instantly. _It was thunder storming that night_, he explained seriously before I could see the images of his memories open as a book. Before I saw the memories, I heard the rattling of thunder and the wind howling. Finally, the curtain opened to reveal its single player thus far, running in the dark in his waterlogged robe. Lightning flashed rapidly and revealed the color of Sheogorath's robe, which was some sort of purple.

He was scurrying towards a large house I had never seen before. It was raining very hard, and to top it off the ground was very muddy. Sheogorath ran up the steps to the wooden balcony of the house and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again, and the door opened. Light cracked the ominous darkness of the night and the storm. Zarrexaij, dressed in a night robe, stared at him. Then, she grinned widely, warmly, at him. Sheogorath was panting, and was looking remarkably cold. "Come in," she invited him, extending her left arm into the house. He knelt over and took off his boots. Then, he stepped inside, and his teeth began clattering loudly. Zarrexaij closed the door, and her grin widened a bit more.

"I don't think I have clothes that would properly fit you, but I have blankets. Get out of that robe before you catch your death," she commanded him cordially. Sheogorath gawked at her. She sighed, and said, "I'll go get blankets." As she turned and left the room, he undressed and crossed his arms across his chest. He began to take a good look at his surroundings. He was in the den, which was large and lavish. The five benches had cushions of cotton and velvet. In the center of the room was a long, low-lying table. There were three doorways; only one of which had an actual door. He heard the _swish_ of Zarrexaij's robe and instinctively covered his crotch with his hands and blushed.

Zarrexaij entered from the only door, which was on the wall opposite of Sheogorath. She didn't do so much as briefly glance over his body. She carried a blanket with her. "If this is too hot or not warm enough for you, I'll get another one for you," she told him softly as she handed it to him. Briskly, he wrapped himself up in it. "There's a fireplace in my room. I'll show you around to it," she told him. Sheogorath nodded and followed Zarrexaij as she went through the door again. They wandered through the long, winding hallway until they came to the very end of it and entered the door right of them. Zarrexaij closed it as the both of them entered the room.

The bedroom of Zarrexaij was huge. It had a wooden floor. On the western wall was her bed, which could easily fit three or four people of her size. Hanging above her bed was a closed window. The lighted fireplace was on the east wall. The orange, warm light emanated it lit half the sizeable room. Several bookshelves and a single desk with a leather chair of some sort adorned the northern wall. The less elaborated southern wall, the wall they were closest to, was decorated only with her large wardrobe. Zarrexaij turned towards Sheogorath. "Do you want to lie down on my bed or sit in front of the fireplace?" she interrogated him innocently.

"I'd rather sit in front of the fireplace. I'm still, er, wet," he replied, pointing to the long locks of his hair, which were still very damp. Zarrexaij grinned and watched Sheogorath go to sit in front of the fireplace. She ambled up to him and sat beside him. "Why do you sit outside when it storms?" she asked him, laying her head on his shoulder. His green eyes gazed at her, and he grinned. He replied, "There's something about storms that makes me feel at peace. It makes me feel… one with the world. It is the only thing that makes me feel welcome here, I suppose. I can relate to a thunderstorm. One moment, it's absolutely peaceful. The next, seething lightning strikes the ground and lights overly dry tender in its rage." As he spoke, his entire face lit up in glee. His eyes almost seemed to glow in the dark. Zarrexaij nodded and wrapped her arms around him.

"That must be why you chose to use spark spells," she stated observantly. She lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed at him. Sheogorath beamed. "Yes, that is why," he replied ecstatically, thrilled by her observation. He, though nervously, draped an arm around her. The blanket girding him didn't come undone. He shifted and leaned over to kiss her on the lips. The blanket opened at his chest, and Sheogorath quickly clutched it. The kiss lasted a while. Finally, they separated, and his lips quivered. "I'm sorry," he murmured under his breath, and lowered his head.

"Why do you keep apologizing?" she asked him curiously. She wrapped her arms around him again and rest her chin on his shoulder. Sheogorath sighed, "I feel like I'm violating you. You know… _forcing_ you to go along." Zarrexaij squeezed him. "You aren't," she insisted softly, kissing the right side of his face above his goatee. He smiled a bit. "I trust you," Zarrexaij told him, turning his head to look him in the eye. Sheogorath nodded passively. One side of his mouth twitched.

Zarrexaij moved herself around to the front of him. She then sat in his lap, facing him. Sheogorath gasped, and gazed at her incredulously. She wrapped her legs around him. "Do you like this?" she asked him considerately. His response was a mixture of embarrassment, helplessness, and to the least extent, excitement. She frowned at his tension. She cooed to him, "Relax, please." He sighed, and eased down. He gazed into her eyes. "Yes…" he sighed, closing his eyes, allowing the tension in his body to dissolve, "I do." Zarrexaij smiled, and kissed him on the mouth. She slid the blanket from his shoulders down, exposing his upper body. She embraced him, and gazed at his back.

His back, covered in ugly, green and blue bruises, stupefied her. "Sheogorath?" she asked him, "what's with these bruises?" Sheogorath stuttered, and then scowled. "Flagellation," he replied. She blinked, and then asked, "What?" He sighed, and wrapped his arms around her. "I get very ashamed of how I feel about you, so I…whip myself with anything leather I can find," he replied nervously. Zarrexaij frowned deeply and released him. She gazed at him with sad eyes. "Don't do that anymore," she said to him in a cheerless voice.

Zarrexaij slid off him and leapt onto the bed. Sheogorath turned around. She gestured for him to crawl up on the bed with her. He did, still wrapped in the blanket, and clambered up to her side. She took his right hand. "Show me how you feel about me, without feeling ashamed for it," she demanded of him, the light in her eyes bright and wild. He stared at her, shaking. She then led his hand up to her breast. His eyes widened and looked up at her with fear. She whispered to him, "Go ahead." He closed his eyes, as if to disappear, and tremblingly squeezed her breast. He bit his lower lip, and opened his left eye. She was staring at him with _that_ look.

I, as well as he, watched her undo her robe and take it off. Sheogorath inhaled sharply as his hand was knocked back. He nervously cupped her breast, and watched, with amazement, Zarrexaij squirm. It seemed he didn't quite understand how something so aberrant to him would be so pleasurable to her. His breathing became husky. He moaned, and removed the hand to peel off the blanket. He sat up and crawled between her legs.

Zarrexaij scrutinized his naked body. She watched him position himself. Sheogorath slowly moved forward and penetrated her. He groaned, and laid his hands beside her head. "You're so big," she remarked, biting her lip. He thrust completely into her, and that invoked a scream from her. Sheogorath's lips quivered, and he withdrew from her. He looked down at her, as well as down to his hardness. The sheet was bloody, as was his entire groin. He slipped off the bed, wrapped himself in the blanket, crawled into a corner, and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Zarrexaij frowned and too slipped off the bed. She, still naked, walked up to his form. She knelt and looked at him with eyes full of despondency. She took one of his hands and squeezed it. He brushed the hand away and hid his face with his hands. "Sheogorath," she said softly, prying his hands from his face. Tears were still streaming from his face, and he was still gurgling and howling. His face had turned a bright red, and his eyes were bloodshot. He sniveled, and looked at her with tremulous lips.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said to her in broken speech. He sniffled. Zarrexaij wrapped an arm around him. She whispered to him lovingly, "I know you didn't." He collapsed into her arms. He used her shoulder to cry on. She hugged him tightly, stroking his hair as he wept. She began shushing him gently and rocking him. Sheogorath's sobbing slowly lost intensity, and Zarrexaij's comfort grew in intensity. She kissed the side of his face.

After several minutes, Sheogorath withdrew himself from her. He looked at her gratefully. He smiled faintly at her. "Go ahead and lay in my bed. I'll retrieve your robe and clean it. It'll be ready in the morning," she told him, smiling at him. Sheogorath nodded wearily. He stood up, holding the blanket together, and ambled up to her bed. He unwrapped himself, lay down, and covered himself in the blanket. Sighing, he closed his eyes and drift off into sleep. Zarrexaij left the room, and the memory gradually faded out.


	20. Open Wounded

I was listening to Call of Ktulu by Metallica as I finished this. Yeah, this has a lot of Silent Hill influence.

* * *

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you."  
Friedrich Nietzsche, _Beyond Good and Evil

* * *

_I exhaled stridently as he let my mind slip from his. I wrapped my arms around my knees and moved them closer to my chest. He stared right into me, completely engulfed by whatever thoughts he had. As his eyes gazed straight into me, it felt as if they penetrated my soul. I shuddered at the lingering sensation of him looking from the outside in. I wondered what, if indeed he was gazing into my soul, he saw. I shuddered again. "Must you stare at me like that? It's giving me the creeps," I told Sheogorath anxiously. His eyes focused on mine, and he opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it. He replied in a soft-spoken voice, "I was thinking about something." 

I tilted my head towards him. "Yes?" I interrogated inquiringly, "Thinking about what?" He looked down at his boots. He didn't seem hesitant. Rather, it seemed Sheogorath was merely recollecting his thoughts. His forehead creased for a short period. "Well, I think Zarrexaij is not here. On the other hand, recognizably so. If she's here, she's in a new form," he spoke to me indifferently. His brow wrinkled again, and he stood up. His right hand stroked his goatee and paced around the room. His pacing made me extremely nervous. "I think she's here," I thought aloud, "but she's definitely not happy to see you."

Sheogorath stopped. I heard him sigh loudly. "I can't feel her as she once was. If she still exists, she's altered. Maybe she lost her one true name. I know just as much as you do," he moaned. I laid a hand on the ground and pushed myself up. I stood up and brushed my robe off. I gave him a piece of my mind about that, "I think you know more than you admit. I think you secretly know what's going on. But… it's like something is preventing you from actually seeing what you know." Sheogorath grimaced; he looked at me with such grief and incredulity it hurt me. He stammered on a few words. I ambled up closer to him.

"You nearly drowned as a boy. Your parents weren't paying you heed. It was the lake of your birthplace. It's around the time she forgot. Or… maybe she didn't forget. Maybe it was there all along. Yes, she repressed the memory. I think… that I needed something," he said while rubbing his right temple. His face was twisted up in confusion. I too found myself puzzled by what he was trying to say. Later, I would know the message. Sheogorath was no fool. I spoke in reply to him, "Perhaps it's time we look in another room." He turned his attention towards me. "Yes," he exhaled noisily, "I suppose you are correct." He seemed tired again as he opened the door for him and I.

We were out in the small hallway again. The red, fetid lining of the floor squished beneath our boots. I cringed at its noise. It was tremendously disgusting. We walked up to the door further down that side of the hallway. This time, I opened the door. I climbed through the door and entered the room. Sheogorath entered shortly behind me, and closed the door gently.

The room we stepped into had a weird covering on the floor. It squashed beneath our boots. It was flesh-colored and didn't smell very pleasant. I took a better look around. It was almost exactly as the past Zarrexaij's room. However, the belongings were covered in blood and rust. The fireplace was alive with an unreal pallid light. The bed, like the previous one, was covered in blood. My companion's jaw hung open. He dropped to his knees on the floor. "Why must you torment me, Zarrexaij?" he shouted dejectedly. He pulled at his hair. Sheogorath was staring at the bed.

Two figures on the came into sight. A hideous, deformed, mouth-less, lanky monster was fighting against a much smaller one. The taller monster was extremely humanoid. It looked made of cloth. The one beneath it was also human, almost feminine, and too looked made of cloth. The taller monster was tearing at the smaller one with its claws. It roared in a voice that was terribly human and yet beastly. The smaller one, beneath it, quivered as it was stabbed with the creature's great claws. The small one let out a final cry, and it died. Blood seeped into the bed, and it turned completely red. The larger one slipped off the bed and paid neither of his much heed. It turned back towards its victim, and, strangely, let out a mournful cry. It whimpered as it neared the dead body of what it had fought. It briefly cupped the grotesquely beautiful head of what it had murdered. The two monsters then vanished.

A door made of muscle and tendon appeared opposite of us. Sheogorath had begun sobbing loudly. He stood up, and ran towards the door, looking back at me with terrified eyes. The door slammed shut behind him. I sprinted towards the door. I flung it open with as much strength as I had. I broke the door in the process. I entered a hallway with stairs leading up. Blood and rust covered everything. It was dark. Where was Sheogorath? I began up the stairs, and suddenly the room burst into light. Sheogorath was walking down the steps towards me.

His face was darkened by grievous shadows. At the sight of me, he smiled. "Zarrexaij?" he asked quite happily. He began walking down the steps, and I began walking backwards as he neared me. He offered me a hand, but then look at me with bemusement. "Why are you running away?" he interrogated me sorrowfully. The look in his eyes changed suddenly. He sighed, and his countenance turned despondent. He uttered, "Oh, it's you, Walter." Sheogorath looked into my eyes. "Sheogorath, please come down with me," I urged him. He shook his head.

"No, I won't. You don't really want to help me, do you? What can an insignificant mortal like you do to help me, after all? You're all selfish, apathetic beings that do nothing but eat, sleep, and have intercourse. It's nauseating. You have no purpose other than to die. But you think you can help me, Walter? What can you do for mad, old Sheogorath? Can a simple _man_ like you destroy pain? Can a simple _man_ love something the world loathes? Can a simple _man_ take the universe away?" he asked me irately. He narrowed his green eyes at me. I lowered my head. He sneered and snickered. He remarked acridly, "Of course a simple _man_ wouldn't." Sheogorath held out his hand again and glowered at me. I stared at his hand. "Give me back my dagger," he barked at me. I shook my head.

"No, I won't, Sheogorath," I replied firmly. Sheogorath laughed. "This is priceless," he commented." He stroked his goatee, smirking at me insanely. "Saving it for you?" he interrogated me with peculiar mirth. I shook my head furiously. "No," I responded to him adamantly, "I would never do such a thing. I won't give you that dagger back. I won't let you banish yourself." He tittered madly. I felt my anger at him rising. "Suit yourself," Sheogorath spat at me as he began to head up the stairs. I chased after him.

"We still have to find Zarrexaij. We had an agreement! Please, show me your memories!" I groaned piteously. He stopped his ascent up the stairs. His body heaved. "Yes, we did have an agreement," he reacted numbly. He turned towards me, and looked me over. He exhaled sharply, and said, "I'll continue to show you memories." He began heading downstairs with me. As we re-entered the room much like Zarrexaij's bedroom, the organic door began repairing itself, and it closed itself. The room was still covered in blood and rust. In fact, it seemed even more so now. Sheogorath and I sat down on the stinking floor.

"I have only a number left. Relevant memories, I mean," he muttered to me softly. He yawned raucously, and took my hand. I yelped as the ache swallowed me up. My mind made its way into his warped psyche. The images of the memories he wished to show developed rapidly. _It was two months after the _thing, he told me with antipathy, especially on the word "thing". He was clearly talking about the… accident he had when attempting intercourse with her.

Zarrexaij was lying in bed, curled up in a little ball. Sheogorath, dressed in an orange robe, entered her dark bedroom, carrying wildflowers he had gathered. She looked at him with bloodshot eyes and smiled faintly. He strolled up to her bedside and knelt. "You look ill," he remarked warmly, offering her the flowers. Zarrexaij sat up and delicately took the flowers. She sneezed a few times. "You could have asked me if I had allergies first," she snapped at him. Her face tensed up briefly before softening. She sighed, and replied, "I'm not feeling myself, no. I haven't had my monthly since… well, I forgot. I keep on vomiting." Sheogorath stared at her uncomprehendingly.

She grinned weakly. "I know. I'm a pregnant, moody elf," she informed him with dark amusement. Zarrexaij chuckled at little. Her lover glanced at her. His countenance was bemused, and he looked like he didn't know what quite to feel. "Do your parents know?" he interrogated fearfully. She nodded. "My father hasn't said much about it, but that's good. My mother is worried that, being so young for an elf to bear a child, I might have a stillborn. So, she's been telling me not to exert myself," she told him, reaching out and stroking his face.

Sheogorath nodded, and began taking off his boots. Then he crawled up into bed with her. He was facing her in bed. "Don't your parents think we should get… married?" he asked her curiously. Zarrexaij beamed at him, and answered, "Yes." She kissed his lips, which evoked a shiver of pleasure from him. "Well," she asked him, "do you want to?" That brought silence in Sheogorath. I watched him lay there and think. His expression then grew cheerful. "Yes, yes I do," he replied, embracing her and peppering her face in loving kisses.

When I reached out to get a better grip on Sheogorath's mind, it felt like he was sad. Something about this memory brought out bitterness in him. At that time, I didn't quite know why it was unpleasant. I found out soon enough why it was unpleasant, but that's not until later. His grip on my mind was dissolving steadily. Finally, I was hurled out of his memories. My shell of a body was now my own again. I gazed at him.

He sat in front of me in silent. Sheogorath didn't do so much as look at him. He was gazing down at the floor. Melancholy was strangling him about. The light of the room turned a subtle blue. I too began feeling the same pensive gloom as Sheogorath. We both sat quietly and absorbed the atmosphere. It began growing very unpleasant, painful, even, as time went on.

"Did you ever…?" I asked him nervously. Sheogorath just sat in moping silence, staring at the putrid floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire damned room. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He lifted his head, and he gazed into my eyes dolefully. His head barely shook, but it shook. The frown on his face was almost as deep as I imagined his sorrow to be. In his sorrow, he looked ancient and amazingly judicious. I myself frowned.

The unbearable silence between us continued for what had to have been ten more minutes. Finally, Sheogorath stood off, and brushed himself off. He made a noise of repulsion. I too stood up. Where we had sat, the floor began bleeding black, coagulated blood with a notable fetor. I nearly vomited. He began striding towards the door to the womblike hallway. As we left the room, the room began feeling frigid. We entered the hallway together, and were both glad to be somewhere less repulsive.


	21. Umbilical

Ironical! While I was writing this chapter, NIN's "The Hand That Feeds" came on. :O ZOMG

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"Just how deep do you believe/  
Will you bite the hand that feeds/  
Will you chew until it bleeds/  
Can you get up off your knees/  
Are you brave enough to see/  
Do you want change it?"  
Nine Inch Nails, "The Hand That Feeds"

* * *

"That was so _revolting_," I commented on the room we had just come from. Sheogorath was looking at the surroundings of the hallway. "It isn't much better out here," he argued, stepping on the velvet-like covering of the ground. He squatted over the ground and studied it. He didn't dare touch what ever the substance was. He observed, "It's almost like some odd lining." I sighed and knelt down beside him. "We're never going to find Zarrexaij at this rate," I told him resignedly. Sheogorath shook his head. "I know she's around here somewhere," he insisted obstinately in an emphatic voice. He stood up, and so did I.

Sheogorath began moving towards the door down our side of the hallway. The door was a little bit rusted. He turned the wooden handle, and gently opened it. I went along with him. He entered the room before me. I trailed not too far behind him. When I entered the room, Sheogorath was sitting, turned away from me, in the middle of the bright, large room. There were several light candles and torches in this room. It looked like a small library/study room. There was a desk on the right side of the southern wall, and beside it was a full bookcase. The northern wall had a crude bedroll and a lantern. The western wall served as the support for a two large bookshelves, both of which were full. The eastern wall too had a single small bookcase, but it was only half full.

I staggered over to Sheogorath. In his hands was some sort of book. He then clutched it tightly to his chest. "What's that?" I interrogated him in a gently voice. He looked up at me and turned towards me. His face was stricken with not remorse, but remembrance. I couldn't quite tell if he was sad, or if he was… happy. His face lit up, and he spoke to me softly, "It is Zarrexaij's large sketchbook." I shifted on my feet, and decided to sit with him. "May I see?" I asked him courteously. He nodded, and handed me it.

I opened it up, and met with a blank, yellowed page. I flipped to the next, which was a crude drawing of what appeared to be house. It was single story, and surrounded by woods. I supposed it was Sheogorath's house. I flipped towards the next page. Now, it was he standing up, turned around, with chairs in the foreground. I turned the page. He was sitting down at some table reading. The next sketch was simply that of a beast of burden. I turned the page again and saw a sophisticated drawing, shaded and all, of Sheogorath's face. The next drawing was of her room. Her art was getting more and more detailed. The next page I flipped to was of Sheogorath sleeping. I flipped ahead to the second to last page. It was a highly detailed picture of a sickly looking Sheogorath. Finally, the last was some odd drawing of a monster of extremely pale skin and short hair. It looked a bit like Sheogorath… but its teeth was more like fangs and its nails more like claws.

"I didn't know that she drew," I remarked, closing the sketchbook carefully. He smiled at me. "I didn't know 'til she showed me," he replied, taking the sketchbook from me. He stood up, and placed it on the eastern bookcase. He sighed as he returned to my side because he wanted to show me his memories. "I shall show you a memory," he told, sighing deeply, and taking his hands into my own. I cringed and gritted my teeth as my body smarted. Before the pain was too great, I was inside his head. _Seven months later_, he told me bitterly.

The memory was hesitant to reveal itself. I was in darkness for a few seconds before Sheogorath uncovered the memory he desired to show. Sheogorath, whom was dressed in a sapphire blue robe, was sitting in his den, reading a book. There was a knock on the door, and he answered it quickly. On the other side of the door was a modestly dressed older-looking elf.

She was panting as she informed him, "Zarrexaij…in labor. She's not doing so well. Haste." Sheogorath's eyes widened, and he set down his book promptly. He stood up and followed the woman, not before closing the door behind him as he set foot outside. They ran down into the village and to Zarrexaij's house. The woman showed him inside and they hurried towards her bedroom. The house was full of the screaming and groaning of a woman. The countenance of Sheogorath turned quite worried. The woman opened the door.

Zarrexaij was laying in bed, clutching the sides, with her legs open. She was wearing nothing but a robe. Beneath her were several blood-stained linens. Sheogorath looked quite disturbed at the sight. She looked as if in immense pain. He wandered to her left side and held her hand. He looked quite sympathetic of her as she squirmed and writhed in pain as the woman held her feet down. The room began to fill what I assumed to be the relatives of Zarrexaij.

The birthing bride-to-be was screeching. The woman holding her down looked quite grave in her duty. Sheogorath winced as Zarrexaij held his hand much too tight as she was birthing the child. The woman would occasionally look up at the two in dismay. The ordeal was taking far too long, and she was losing too much blood. I wondered at this point if she was going to make it, if the _baby_ was going to make it. She was shrilly howling, clutching to Sheogorath in pure agony. Her face twisted up in the unimaginable pain of this abnormal childbirth. It was the truth: she was far too young and far too damaged a flower.

I watched as several minutes, perhaps hours, passed by with no avail. Finally, the woman announced she could see a head. If I had my face at that point, I would cringe. Her screams grew higher and higher pitched as well as louder. The observers were beginning to turn pale. As I had said, she was losing far too much blood. I'm glad I couldn't see that aspect yet. She sounded as if she was being tortured, and, in a sense, she was.

I heard a bloodcurdling, sickening sound. A bit of blood had sprayed onto the woman. I wanted to cry out, but I had no former mouth. All I could do was scream in my head. The woman reached in between her legs and held the blood-covered baby that was not crying. She was very pale by now, and she glanced at the two lovers, then back at the baby. "I'm… I'm sorry," she stammered. The whole room was in deadly silence.

The woman cleared her throat. She elaborated, "Your child is dead. Do you want to hold _him_ before we depose of the baby?" Zarrexaij stared at the woman with tears in her eyes. She released Sheogorath from her vice and opened her arms. The woman placed the very bloody, dead child in her arms. "What did I do," Zarrexaij wept, "to have my child deserve death?" The woman gazed at her with compassionate eyes. The others in the room shifted uncomfortably.

Sheogorath wrapped an arm around Zarrexaij. She began sobbing, and gave the dead child back to the woman. "I can't bear to look at it anymore," Zarrexaij said, sniveling as she gave it back. The woman nodded somberly, and headed outside the room. The family members stared at the two and turned to exit. They left without saying a word. The two were alone again.

"I'm sorry… I should have never…" Sheogorath began saying before Zarrexaij kissed his lips to shut him up. She looked into green eyes and smiled. She told him sweetly, "It's not your fault, or my fault. I guess I was just too young." Sheogorath sighed and squeezed her gently. He looked at her hands and grimaced. "Aren't you going to wash them?" he asked her queasily. She nodded, and answered, "I will after the nurse comes back. Go talk to my parents as she cleans me up." He exhaled loudly, but did not argue as he obeyed her and left the room.

Sheogorath ambled into the den where the family was. The father of Zarrexaij, who was a tad taller than Sheogorath, was sitting on a bench and reading a book. He had golden skin and auburn hair. His eyes were a light blue. The male elf was wearing a deep burgundy robe. He looked up from the book and motioned for Sheogorath to sit beside him. The mother, who was across the room, was only slightly shorter than Sheogorath, and was pale but still obviously elven. Her hair was dark and her eyes were a haunting light gold. She was wearing a form-fitting orange dress. Sheogorath sat down beside the father.

The father spoke to him, "I was around your age when I met Zarrexaij's mother. She had been impregnated by another man… another elf, I think. Same thing happened to her and her mother. It's almost like a family curse. You really shouldn't blame yourself for what happened. Zarrexaij is very young for an elf, you know. They don't start getting fertile until they are older… unless they sleep with a human of sorts. It's really not a surprise she lost the child." Sheogorath nodded, and said nothing in reply. The elf smiled at him. "You're a quiet one, huh? I'm not mad at you or anything," he said to him in a soft voice. The mother looked up at the two with curiosity, but returned to her thoughts.

The woman that had served as a midwife returned into the house. She sighed, and wandered into the hallway, down to Zarrexaij's room. Sheogorath looked pensive for a moment or two before he spoke. "Don't elves have very few children in their lifetime?" he asked quietly, placing his hands between his thighs. The father nodded. "No more than four," he specified in his rough elven voice. Sheogorath's face saddened, and he said no more for a time. The father stood up and ambled off to get something.

The mother quickly took the place of the father beside Sheogorath. She was just as warm towards him as the father was. "I can tell you love my daughter very much. I trust that you'll treat her well," she said to him in her gentle voice that was not unlike Zarrexaij's own. Sheogorath nodded again and sighed. He told her, "I really wanted a complete family." Her mother smiled, and turned his goateed face towards her. "Don't break yourself over that. The important thing is that you love her," she replied compassionately, grinning pointed ear to pointed ear at him. It was an infectious smile, and I watched Sheogorath's mouth twitch up in a coy smile.

Zarrexaij entered the room. She was cleaned up, and looked a bit healthier. Sheogorath instinctively stood up and walked over to her. "Are you okay?" he asked her anxiously. She smiled, and replied lovingly, "Of course I am." She kissed his lips and hugged him tightly. Sheogorath exhaled in a dreamy sort of way and embraced her. "That's great," he remarked, letting a breath out of his lungs. His body's tension dissolved, but his slight melancholy did not.

They let go of each other. Sheogorath turned towards the mother and asked her a question. "Would it be fine if I stayed the day and night here to care for her?" he questioned, rubbing Zarrexaij's back with one hand. The mother smiled at him warmly and replied, "Of course it would be fine. I'll have to inform her nurse, though." She stood up gracefully and left the room. Zarrexaij turned towards her lover and beamed at him. They began kissing again, and the image faded out.

I had been expelled from his racing thoughts and memories rather hastily. When I returned to my body, the room seemed blindingly bright. I let my eyes adjust and gazed at the sullen face of Sheogorath. He let out a harsh breath of depression and held the sketchbook he had put up earlier close to his chest. He rocked it, as if it were a child or Zarrexaij herself. The sight was utterly poignant. I reached out to Sheogorath and laid a hand on his shoulder.

He gasped lowly and looked up at me with surprised eyes. He then settled down. His bright eyes searched over me for some incomprehensible reason, as if I was hiding something treacherous from him. Sheogorath set the sketchbook down and tottered out of the room with what ever great burden he had. I followed him outside, and the shut the door behind me. He tiredly sauntered to the next door. I sighed, and looked down at the disgusting floor as I chased after him.


	22. Washed Away

Sheogorath's a naughty little banker. Another interesting thing happened with this chapter. While I was starting to type it up, "Black Hole Sun" began playing. :D

* * *

"Black hole sun/  
Won't you come/  
And wash away the rain?"  
Soundgarden, "Black Hole Sun"

* * *

Sheogorath opened the rusted door and let itsqueal loudly in pain as he entered. I too went through the wide-open doorway quickly and digested the sights in the room. I observed that the room was not lit very well. Its only source of lit was a two torches, one of which was dying out. The room resembled a den. It had several pieces of furniture, including a table, several cushioned benches, and chairs. However, the walls, as well as the furniture, was covered it some horrible rot. Water was dripping down from the ceiling and it splattered on Sheogorath and me. As a natural result, the room was extremely damp and the furniture was a bit bloated.

I noticed there was a body sitting in a chair that was facing the opposite wall. I began ambling towards the chair. As I neared the chair, my boots splashed a puddle of water on the floor. I then walked in front of the chair and scrutinized the body. The body was much mangled, but it appeared to be of a man my size. The skin of his face had been eaten, cut, or burned off. I didn't ponder on the facial features for very long. When I think about it, I cannot remember all his details. It looked like he was wearing a robe. However, it was much too dirty, faded, and rotten to determine what color it was.

"Well, this is a nice room," I remarked sardonically, gazing back at Sheogorath, who was staring at me inquisitively. He shrugged and began walking towards me. As he moved towards me, he looked casually at the corpse but paid it little regard. "We still have business to deal with," he reminded me nonchalantly, gazing at me dead in the eyes. I shuddered. His eyes seemed to smolder in the darkness of the room, as they frequently appeared to do. He smirked at me widely at his obvious observation that I found his eyes to still be so frightening.

He blinked, then asked of me, "Are you just going to stand there? Please, come closer and take my hand." I inched towards him and tentatively gave him my right hand. I moaned in torment. I felt the grip on my body ebbing in the throbbing pain. My body let out an inaudible sigh as my mind was drawn into his. His psyche seemed more and more aloof every time I was sucked in. _She changed so much after the birth_, he informed me in a tone that wasn't quite bitter or melancholic, but rather painfully aware. Slowly, the memory he wanted to illustrate was unfolding.

It was dark in the bedroom of Zarrexaij. Zarrexaij was lying in bed, covered by a blanket. Sheogorath was kneeling beside the bed and resting his head by hers on the mattress. He sighed and stroked her face gently. She turned onto her side and stared at him with unbearably empty eyes. A deceitful smile came across her despondent face. Sheogorath looked at her with worry. "Are you mad at me?" he asked her in a quiet voice.

She exhaled, and answered him in an exasperated voice, "No; quit asking me that damn question. The answer was the same not too long ago. It's not going to change any damn soon." He withdrew his head from the bed and recoiled. The light in his green eyes seemed to dull, and his expression saddened. He stood up and peered down at her. He asked her another question, "What do you want me to do?" Yet again, she exhaled and met him with hostility. "I want you to stop asking me so many damn questions," she answered him brusquely. She turned away from him and curled into a ball.

Sheogorath crawled up on the bed with her. He wasn't wearing his boots. He caressed her form gently as he gazed at her with mixed feelings of admiration, confusion, and distress. Zarrexaij craned her head as far as she could to look at him. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him, pulling him over to embrace her. She turned around, again on her side, and kissed his mouth. Sheogorath wrapped his arms around her and cooed. Zarrexaij let out a wistful sigh and buried her face into his chest.

I watched the two lay together, bodies interlocked, for what was probably twenty minutes. Finally, the door to the room opened, breaking the gloomy darkness in half with cheery beams of light. Her mother entered carrying a tray with a ceramic pitcher, two cups, and a plate full of rolls. She laid the tray at the front of the bed and left the room without saying a word. Sheogorath slipped out of bed silently to investigate the metal tray. He wandered over to where it sat. The two cups and the pitcher were full of steaming translucent tea.

Meanwhile, Zarrexaij began crawling up to the front of the bed. Sheogorath sat down and gazed up at her. "Tea," he stated plainly, taking a cup delicately. She nodded and gestured for her to give her one of the cups. He complied complacently. She took the cup to her lips and sipped cautiously. All the while, Sheogorath took the other cup and drank the piping hot liquid unflinchingly. His lover crept from the bed and sat closely beside him on the floor. Sheogorath placed his half-full cup on the tray and wrapped an arm around her without even moving the cup in her hands.

"It… hasn't even been a day and you're brooding," he remarked, stroking her dress free of wrinkles. She gazed at him. "Yes," she replied irritably, "but that doesn't mean it wasn't traumatic. You weren't the one who lost it, after all." Sheogorath winced at her retort and frowned. He kissed her forehead and reached for a roll with his free hand. "You can't judge everyone's suffering as meager just because you lost _our_ child," he replied calmly before biting into the roll.

Zarrexaij sipped on her tea again and cast him a glare. "Yes, I can," she hissed, "watch me, why don't you?" She set her cup down and pulled away from him. Sheogorath sighed and looked at her bleakly. He shook his head and told her firmly, "I'm trying to understand why you're being so disdainful of my efforts to comfort you. I don't want you miserable. I want you happy, like you were before…" he trailed off, probably realizing he was hitting a particularly sensitive issue with Zarrexaij. She said nothing in reply and began supping on her tea again whilst staring at him.

Sheogorath let out a groan of aggravation. He finished the rest of his roll and sat in thought for a bit. He didn't open his mouth until he appeared certain that what he was going to say was tactful and well-timed. "When do you want to wed?" he interrogated her, leaning in close to her. She sipped on her tea and then answered him with "Next month". He nodded and kissed her gently on the nose.

The memory faded out, and the darkness itself faded as another memory readied itself. _This memory is the next day_, he informed me in a mind-voice that sounded very exhausted. Sheogorath was sitting outside on the patio, dressed in a crimson robe. His arms and legs were crossed. It was storming furiously. The trees surrounding the houses swayed rhythmically with the thunderstorm. Lightning flashed, and thundered roared massively. He was the single person outside. He sighed and began walking down the steps to his house. As he was halfway down to the woods, the door of the house opened. The darkened daylight was penetrated by the light of the house. Zarrexaij, in a white robe, ran after him, shouting incoherent sayings.

Sheogorath stopped and turned around. He looked at her bitterly. As she reached him, he asked her cantankerously, "What do you want?" His countenance was very displeased. Zarrexaij sighed, and answered him coolly, "I want to apologize." He stared at her. "I don't think 'I'm sorry' is going to take what you said back. Yes, I'm a weak, weak man, but only because you came along. I bloody waited for you! And only when I live to my threats and you feel sick do you chase me," he murmured wrathfully, shaking in anger where he was standing. He clenched his fists and turned away from her. He stomped towards his house.

Zarrexaij, again, chased after him with a furious determination. As he reached the door, he turned around to gaze at Zarrexaij standing only feet away. He snorted and turned back around. He opened the door to his house, stepped inside, slammed the door shut, and briskly locked it. She sighed, and knocked on the door. Something audibly hit the door from the inside, and Zarrexaij frowned. She sighed and slowly meandered back to her house. Thunder then broke the deathly silence, growling and roaring in pure fury as the lovers seethed schismatically.

The attention turned towards Sheogorath inside. He was grumbling as he clomped into his room. He dropped to his knees and fumbled beneath the bed. He grabbed something that looked like a crudely made whip. His body began heaving as he stood up, and tears began streaming from the corners of both his eyes. He promptly stripped down of his robe. The hand that held the whip, his right, brought it down on the flesh of his right leg. Sheogorath bite his lip, muffling a cry of agony as the whip _swoosh_ed onto his flesh and left a bright red ribbon on his right inner thigh.

He lifted the whip again. It brought down hard on the same leg, marring the knee and the upper calf. The ugly slashes began oozing of blood. Sheogorath emitted a loud grunt. The right arm of him lifted again, and was brought down noisily. This time the whip scored across his abdomen, dangerously close to where his fully erect manhood throbbed in the air. More tears filled his bright green eyes. He bit his lip, and exclaimed, "Damn it! This… infernal…desire…perish!"

His face was quickly turning a bright, strained red. Beads of sweat began forming on his forehead. Thunder began rolling in protest. Sheogorath slapped himself with the whip furiously across the left inner thigh. In a wicked vehemence, he began flagellating himself, over and over and over hitting and slapping his heated, sweating flesh with the whip. Each time it made contact with his body, he emanated a horrible groan of pain and pleasure, mostly pain.

His loud moans filled the house as he continued punishing himself. The rain began falling harder, faster as his own rhythm did the same. Thunder roared irately as something quietly scratched against the front door. Suddenly, it burst open, and the sound of rain increased sharply in volume. Footsteps resonated in the house, and it sounded like it was getting very close to where Sheogorath brought penance onto himself. He brought the whip down on himself again as Zarrexaij entered his room.

The water dripping face of Zarrexaij paled. She stared at him with wide open eyes, and slowly her jaw dropped. "Sheogorath?" she whimpered fearfully, looking over his wounds. His torso and legs were covered in blood, welts, and bleeding lacerations. His erection was still standing proudly, and the expression Sheogorath had was bewildered and quite mortified. His right hand released the whip and let it fall on the wooden floor.

His face began paling. "Zarrexaij," he uttered weakly, holding out a hand towards her. His lover's eyes filled with tears. "Why did you do this?" she asked him glumly, pulling on her long hair. Her tone of voice was hardly accusatory. Sheogorath gazed at her in a daze as she scrutinized his body. "Please," she begged of him in a pitiable voice, "don't ever, ever, _EVER_ do that again!" She began sobbing and ambled towards his tall, pale, naked, injured body.

She wrapped her arms around his bleeding form. Sheogorath draped an arm around her. He looked at her bemusedly. "I'm… sorry," he mumbled faintly, closing his eyes. Zarrexaij patted his back. "It's okay," she replied affectionately, sniffling, "I'm not mad at you." She pulled away from him and looked him in his eyes. She began crying again. Sheogorath embraced her tightly as the rain gradually began stopping and thunder rumbled once more. As he held her, the memory drifted and it died there.


	23. Grip

A lot of things happen in 23s. As you have learned, coincidence has a hidden agenda.

* * *

"All the love gone bad turned my world to black/  
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all that I'll be"  
Pearl Jam, "Black"

* * *

I blinked my icy teal eyes and focused on Sheogorath's form. He broke away from me and rubbed his forehead with his right hand. "I'm starting to remember why… Closer to the reason to this…. Closer to why she had to die… Why, before marriage, Death did kiss," he muttered whilst rubbing one of this temples. He turned away from me and started to head towards the door. I sighed. I swiftly went after him as he headed out the door and into the peculiar hallway.

"She's waiting for me; I know it. Just as I waited for her before," he mumbled to me determinedly. Of course, he entered the next door down on our side of the hallway. Instead of entering a new room, we entered the first room we saw together. It hadn't changed much. The walls of it had blackened slightly, but the raised platform was still there, and it was still not very well lit. He sat down on the platform. His haggard face rested between his hands idly.

I sat beside him. He gazed at me jadedly and asked, "Do you still have the crystal rose?" I nodded, and rummaged through the sling pack that came with my robe. I pulled out the unscathed crystal rose. It glowed feebly in the dark. Sheogorath smiled and peered at it with admiration. "Amazing what it survived," he remarked avidly. His eyes brightened up, and for the first time, they actually burned ardently, producing a gentle, almost unnoticeable light. I touched one of his hands.

"That memory…how she died, or how you remember it. Show me," I insisted. He sighed, and his smile faded. He replied graciously, "I shall go as far as I can." He then shifted in posture, freed his hands, and held mine the way a parent would hold a child's hand. He closed his eyes, and my hands began stinging. I cringed and did my best to ignore the short-lived yet unmeasured pain. At last, his mind and mine were in contact. _It was the very day_ _before… Such a spiteful, cursed damn day_, he told me in a mind-voice that was not quite detached.

The room was dark. It was near impossible to make out too many details. Suddenly, a door opened, and light streamed in. The silhouette of Sheogorath entered the room. It was Zarrexaij's bedroom. The sound of creaking filled my un-ears. I saw two forms in the bed, writhing and moaning. He gazed curiously at the bed and threw off the covers. The sight he saw made his face turn red and his pupils contracted to a tiny dot.

Zarrexaij was lying in bed with the healer elf she called a friend. Her pupils widened and her jaw slackened in shock. She promptly covered her bosom with a pillow and managed to spit something out. "I'm sorry," she murmured weakly, looking up at the form of Sheogorath, whom was a tower over her. His face was very taut. His incensed line of sight turned towards the meri male. "Get out now," he commanded tersely. His voice seemed much deeper than usual, as well as strained.

The male elf quickly slid out of bed, properly dressed himself, and fled the room. Sheogorath then turned to Zarrexaij. "I trusted you," he remarked disdainfully, pacing in front of the bed with his hands clasped behind his back. He mumbled, "What to do, what to do." Zarrexaij silently leapt out of bed and dressed herself. She started for the door when he snarled at her, "Oh, no, you're staying in here."

Zarrexaij sighed, and ambled up closer to him. Sheogorath glared at her while every occasionally one eye twitched and his nose quivered upwards. "Do you know the severity of what you have done?" he asked her, gazing down at her with contempt. She looked back up at him fearfully. He snorted and shook his head. He snapped at her, "Of course you don't." She backed away from him. For the first time, I noticed the tiny detail that he was dressed in the robe he wore the first day they met.

"I didn't mean to…," she protested futilely as he stormed closer to her. He narrowed his eerie green eyes and hissed, "Strumpet! Right before our wedding night! Oh, the nerve of you!" He raised his arms and promptly brought them down. Zarrexaij sat down on the bed and twiddled her thumbs. He neared the bed and towered over her condescendingly. "I trusted you, god damn it! _YOU LIED TO ME_! I loved you," he screamed at her, breaking down into tears. He pulled on his long, slightly curly red hair.

He lurched a bit, and nearly fell over. Zarrexaij said nothing. When he finally regained some composure, he lashed out on her again. This time, he raised his hand to hurt her. He never brought it down on her, but she squealed at him, "You're a monster if you think you're going to do that!" Sheogorath smiled psychotically at her and stood up perfectly straight. He began cackling.

"I look like a monster to you? Is that it? Do I disgust you so much you have to run off with another guy one bloody day before our wedding?" he hissed at her deliriously between guffaws. Zarrexaij began moving to the opposite side of the bed. Sheogorath snickered, and walked to the right side of the bed. She whimpered as he looked her in the eyes. "Just say it," he growled, "I sicken you." She shook her head.

Sheogorath chortled, and yelled at her, "You LIAR!" He clenched his fists, and tears began streaming from his eyes again. "I disgust you!" he exclaimed despairingly, "that's why you slept with him. You planned this because you don't want to get married." She reached out to touch him for comfort, but he reviled. "Don't touch me," he snarled. He began sobbing uncontrollably again. "I…trusted…you!" he shrieked at her, pulling out more of his hair and growling in frustration.

He stormed out of the room, out of the house, and outside, into the forest. His memories and thoughts were whirling now, and things were beginning to become incoherent. Things stopped making complete sense. Time seemed to flow much faster. Zarrexaij appeared outside and yelled something incomprehensible at Sheogorath. He turned around and faced her. The world began to become a blur.

As Zarrexaij neared him, out of the blue some lanky man that seemed rather familiar snatched her. He was holding a shiny object, which I presumed to be a knife or dagger. Sheogorath yelled something incoherent at the man. The man looked at Sheogorath with disregarding green eyes and began stabbing Zarrexaij. Sheogorath grabbed the white collar of the man, but this man pushed him off.

Zarrexaij shrieked as the man repeatedly stabbed her. The sounds of the stabbing, the squelching of blood lubricating the penetration, the tearing of flesh, and the jubilant cries of this lunatic filled my ears. Slowly, his sight began clarifying. All I could see was the back of the head of the man. His hair was short and very clean. It was red, like unlike Sheogorath's own hair, in fact. He was wearing…

He was wearing a green waistcoat over a long-sleeved shirt, which was odd for that time of year in Atmora. It felt, or, at least it seemed to, warm. I never saw the man's face. Sheogorath's world was crystal clear now, and I could see every damn fiber in that waistcoat. Sheogorath was sitting stunned, on the ground.

He stood up and clawed at the man, but the man, of course, fought him off. Zarrexaij was writhing in the hands of the lunatic. A bubble of blood formed over her open mouth and popped violently. The lunatic had stabbed her in the back, and this brought her to her knees. She fell over. Her beautiful white dress was covered in blood and tears where the silver dagger had slashed her flesh. Her eyes were revealed to be wide open and glassy as the lunatic rolled her on her back.

The lunatic said one thing before he scattered into the forest. The very words he said were, "All I ever wanted, and all I ever needed, was a source of _compassion_." His voice was weepy, and sounded exactly like the voice of what would be the future Sheogorath. It didn't quite make sense, but he saw it. I wouldn't question his view of reality quite yet.

Sheogorath began weeping. "Why?" he screamed, looking up at the sky. He gathered Zarrexaij into his arms and walked into town. He began moaning multiple things. A crowd began to gather as he journeyed into the village. At the very center of the village was a platform, and he laid her gently up on it. He kneeled before her body, and began whispering something. In between words, he broke into periods of bawling.

An elf in a gray robe approached the kneeling figure of Sheogorath. He knelt slightly and laid a hand on Sheogorath's shoulder. "Come with me," the elf whispered into Sheogorath's ear. His voice was rough and brooding. The two stood up and walked towards the large guild building. Sheogorath held his held low as they trekked to it. After a minute of being in the blazing sun, the two entered the building, and ambled into the meeting chamber.

The entire guild was sitting in the massive chamber. All except one table, which had two unseated chairs, was full. The two men sat side by side. The elf by Sheogorath cleared his throat. "Do you know what happened in the forest?" he interrogated him. Sheogorath nodded apprehensively. He replied softly, "Zarrexaij, my bride to be… she was murdered."

The group of mages began chattering loudly. The elf beside Sheogorath cleared his throat and tapped loudly on the table. "Order, order!" the elf shouted in a booming, commanding voice. The group silenced, and the elf cleared his throat again. He turned his attention towards Sheogorath, and began speaking.

"Yes, she was murdered. Do you know who?" the elven mage asked him in a grim tone of voice. Sheogorath looked at him dubiously. The elf leaned in towards him, which made him nervous. "No," he answered honestly, gulping. The mer sighed. Not a single sound was made after the answer. The mer stood up. "Come with me," he said, "Sheogorath." He stood up as well, and followed the mer into another room, which was a private chamber. The door was wide open, and when they entered, it shut magically. The room was relatively small, with a barren desk opposite of Sheogorath and a chair behind it. The elf sat down.

"I have something to tell you, and I don't expect you to accept it," the elf told him gravely. The tall mage nodded quietly. The mer exhaled, and prepared to tell him something. He told him, "Make yourself comfortable, while you are at it." Sheogorath looked at him bemusedly and turned around. There was a lavish chair there now that I didn't remember seeing. Sheogorath sat down and stared at the elf.

The elf then proceeded to inform him, "Zarrexaij was killed…" and he sighed, but then continued on. "She was killed by you," he finished his thoughts. Sheogorath continued staring at the man, then erupted in fury. "You liar! I would never do such a thing!" he retorted, clawing the arms of his chair. The elven mage sighed and stood up. "Didn't expect you to believe me," he replied earnestly, ambling around the room absent-mindedly.

"Well, you see, then, you obviously… hallucinated. See, show me that dagger you have," the mage explained, pointing to Sheogorath's boots. The handle of a silver dagger stuck out clearly from the top of his left boot. Sheogorath carefully slid the dagger out and pointed the blade towards the sky. It was covered with blood. He dropped it and looked at it, mouth agape. The elf let out a morbid chuckle.

He told Sheogorath candidly, "See, I'm not so crazy now. However, since the whole council knows, and most likely, the whole town, you're going to be in trouble. Hide yourself." The elf then sat down. I watched Sheogorath's face blanch. He stood up, and began to walk towards the door. The elf emitted a loud "ahem" and thus Sheogorath stopped and turned to face the elf. "What?" Sheogorath asked the superior. The elf replied, "Take care."

The memory ended there as he opened the door.


	24. Marriage to Death

I have a knack for catching the songs I quote on the radio when I'm writing a chapter in which I'm quoting it in. Hehehe.

* * *

"Limbs tied/  
Skin tight/  
Self inflicted/  
His perdition"  
10 years, "Wasteland"

* * *

His noose on my mind loosened and freed me. He gaped at me, blinking repeatedly. He let go of my hand and rubbed his temples. Sheogorath stared at the crystal rose in my other hand in awe. Its luminescence had intensified. I put it back in my pack. "I'm so tired of this torture," he stated groggily, slowly laying on the platform with his abdomen to the air. I peered at him inquisitively. "You don't have very many memories left to show me, do you?" I asked him silently, turning my body completely towards him. He sighed and shook his head. 

I lay beside him. He turned his head towards me. "That day I nearly drowned as a child… there was this dead Dunmeri women in the water. She wore this grayish robe. I swore that she opened her eyes… but I guess the fear just did that to me. I blacked out afterwards. At least I was saved by one of my parents. But I swear…I saw a man on the shore. He was… laughing," I thought aloud. Sheogorath cocked his head and grinned at me faintly. For a moment, he chuckled, but he never quite said why. "Zarrexaij," he began to say in a raspy voice, and he cleared his throat to finish, "was created that day." I looked at him curiously. I asked him, "Oh?" He nodded, and explained, "It's like she was born from a wish." I said no more about the subject then.

I shifted and scooted a little closer to him. "What about the those memories?" I asked him, tilting my head slightly. He looked up at me numbly. He spoke to me in a sort of forced nonchalance, "Oh, never mind those for right now." He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at me with a predatory gleam in his eyes. I shifted away from him. "I don't see why you chose me. I'm completely normal. I'm not a sensitive, I'm not mentally unstable, and most of all, I'm not like you," I averred, gathering my legs closer to my chest. He grinned at horridly, and then he produced a subtle chuckle in his throat.

"That is where your judgment fails you. Your pretension is laughable. Every man thinks he is 'normal'. If you look deep, we are the same. That is why you have this distaste," he replied with a wide smirk. He slow sat up and crossed his legs. He still gazed at me in that godforsaken way. "Explicate," I riposted, furrowing my brow, folding my arms. He replied in a soft, sensual voice, "Why, it's very simple, Walter. Certainly you could understand. Life itself nauseates you much. There's something about the world you find…wrong. You realize reality is untrue. Fabricated, if you prefer. The call of the 'real' world has you. You are seeing what I have seen. Soon, your sanity will shatter." I shook my head. "No," I maintained crossly, slipping off the platform and standing, "that's not true. You're lying." He guffawed at me. The vile smile on his face persisted. "Denial shall be your downfall," he informed me in a somber tone.

I couldn't take anymore of his bloody nonsense. I headed for the door, and his laughing stopped. I turned the doorknob. He then said, "You can't turn away now, Walter. That would be extremely foolish." I sighed, and turned around to face him. "Fine," I replied petulantly, "I'll do things _your_ way." Sheogorath stood up and ambled over to where I stood. "You say that like I'm difficult," he teased, his massive grin fading to a small smile. I sighed as he leaned forward and grabbed me. In my mind, I whimpered as he leaned forward enough to kiss my neck.

Wanting to distract him, I told him, "I want to see the rest of those memories." He brushed his lips over the nape of my neck and lowered his hands slowly. I shuddered as they swept over the small of my back and abruptly clasped my hands. Oh, the almost electric smarting traveled up the veins of my arms and into the rest of my body. I groaned in distress. After about a minute of the agonizing pain, my mind was made one with his.

At first all in sight was black. Even though I had no ears, I heard the sound of faint sobbing. It opened up to a very well lit kitchen. An acrid smell entered whatever the hell I was smelling with. Sheogorath appeared from the corner. His burgundy sleeves were soaked in some sort of dark liquid. There was a boiling pot over a fire pit. His hair was a mess. It was later in the day that he killed Zarrexaij. It was almost sunset, and I heard the faint rumble of thunder off in the very far off distance.

He paced around for several minutes, and checked on the boiling pot. Apparently, whatever was cooking in this pot was done. He rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchen and retrieved a thick cloth and a wooden spoon. With the thick cloth in his left hand, he used that hand to lift the pot and strained the contents with the spoon using the right. He held it over the fire pit. The hot water fell on the fire, and extinguished it. The goods inside the pot looked suspiciously like a bunch of treated nightshade berries and leaves and some white colored mushrooms. He held the pot horizontally and looked at its contents queasily.

Slowly, he picked up the still steaming items and consumed them. Sheogorath grimaced, presumably at the bitterness of the nightshade. Only about fifteen minutes after, he began turning pale. He lurched over and clutched at his stomach. He winced and fell over. I watched him curl up into a ball. He moaned loudly, still holding his stomach in pain. Sheogorath began vomiting raucously in between vociferous wails. He brought himself to his knees.

He staggered onto his feet. The pain he was feeling was so great that he nearly fell back over into his own vomit. Sheogorath steadied himself and found a chair. He placed this chair in front of a doorway, which overhead, had several beams of wood. He disappeared from my mind's eye line of sight and quickly reappeared with a long, thick rope. He began forming a noose with one end of the rope. He clambered onto the chair and tied the other end of the noose to one of the beams a little bit in front of the chair.

I watched him close his eyes. He walked forward and placed his head and neck into the noose. He fell into it and his body wobbled precariously in the air. As his feet hit the chair, he knocked it over. His body continued writhing. His body had nearly stopped wriggling as the noose snapped, and he fell on the floor. His neck fell hard on the chair, and he screamed loudly.

"GODDAMN IT TO HELL!" he cursed loudly, sobbing as his third attempt at suicide had failed. His face had turned a bright pink, and little sparks of tears riveted down his face as the collar of his robe was stained with blood. Slowly and painfully, Sheogorath rolled over on his side and cried. The bones in his neck looked broken, and there was a wide gash where he had fall on one of the wooden corners. His weeping was so loud and vigorous he began vomiting again. I wanted to cringe as his sharp howling and nausea filled my un-ears.

The sight and noise was painfully. No longer able to stand up, Sheogorath crawled into the kitchen. The sight was very pitiable. Slowly, he made it into the kitchen. He managed to pull himself to the counters. Using one of his long arms and his hands, he searched the counters for something. From above, I could see the same dagger her used to kill Zarrexaij with. It had been cleaned of blood, but there was still plant goop on the blade from cutting the nightshade and mushrooms. It was quite a ways from his hand.

Finally, I watched him slowly near the dagger. He fumbled over a metal spoon and clutched the handle. He brought it down to his face and cursed again. Sheogorath continued groping for that damned dagger. His body heaved as his right hand slipped over the silver blade of the dagger. Carefully he slipped his hand downwards to the handle. He brought it down to his face and his pain twisted face split into an awkward beam. Clumsily he crawled back into the middle of the house, between the den, hallway, and kitchen.

He clumsily sat up on his knees on the hardwood floor. He grinned madly as he held the hand holding the dagger out. The blade was pointing towards his chest. Then, he stabbed himself in the center of his chest. He gasped, and bit his lip. He pulled the knife out, and repeated the ritual. This time, he did not pull the knife out. His eyes rolled back, and his face paled of any color. He fell forward onto the dagger, and crimson blood pooled onto the floor.

For a few seconds, his body shook in reflex. Soon after, his body stiffened up. The house darkened. I began to hear the pitter-patter of rain on the roof. Thunder sounded its massive roar, and lightning flashed, lighting up the room completely. The front door sounded with a knock. There were plenty of rapid raps against the door. The doorknob jiggled. It was locked. Suddenly, there was a _bang_ against the front door. After a few _thump_s against the door, it burst open, and two men entered the house.

One of the man was short and podgy. The other man was taller and thinner. Both were festooned in crude armor and worn, damp clothes. The short man, who was brown-haired and olive-skinned, exclaimed, "God, it stinks like hell in here!" He covered his mouth and nose with his left hand. The taller, skinnier guard, who had cropped blond hair and brown eyes, ambled more into the dark den. He peered down at the corpse of Sheogorath and his mouth went agape. "Looks like the madman did the job for us," the thin man stated, tapping the limp body with a boot.

The shorter one grimaced. He remarked disgustedly, "So that's what that damn smell is." The thinner guard walked around the corpse and blood and into the kitchen. He looked at the discarded pot and smelled it. He cringed. "Looks like he tried poisoning himself. From the looks of it, he used far too much and his system rejected it completely," he informed the other guard with revulsion. He gazed at the vomit at the floor and cringed some more. The stubbier guard hurdled over Sheogorath's dead body and ambled into the kitchen.

"Looks like he tried using some nightshade and Destroying Angels," the stubbier one commented, holding his nose. The thinner one nodded, and turned towards the open doorway to the hall. He pointed towards the broken noose and the chair on its side. The stockier one looked in the direction of the pointed finger. "Good god," the short one interjected, "he had a damn hard time dyin'."

The thinner one grinned evilly. "What's on your mind, Llevil?" the shorter one questioned in a fearful tone of voice. "Well, we have to bring his body back," "Llevil" replied mischievously, "we might as well have fun with it. He's an infamous lunatic; no one will give a damn about desecration." The shorter one lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" the other one questioned suspiciously, shifting a bit. He scratched his head.

Llevil looked at the body, then back at his stockier companion. "Why, Gregor, have you ever wondered what a man without skin looks like?" he asked Gregor with a sadistic smile. Gregor grimaced at his companion. He replied with distaste, "Not particularly, no." Llevil scowled. "Come on," Llevil persisted, giving his companion a gentle jab with the elbow. Gregor rubbed where he was hit and sighed. "Fine, but we're feeding the skin to the dogs. We'll just have to say he was like that when we found him," he mumbled unenthusiastically, crossing his arms and shaking his head in disapproval.

The memory slowly faded to black. Sheogorath let go of my hands and embraced me again. He began sobbing. "I wanted to die," he whispered into one of my ears, squeezing me tightly to his chest. I wrapped my arms around him and patted his back. It felt rather maladroit, but I did the best I could to comfort him. He buried his face into my left shoulder. I stroked his hair. I exhaled, and let the tension in my body dissolve. After several moments, he pulled away from me and gazed at me.

"Let's get out of this room right now," he urged me civilly, looking me straight into my damn eyes.


	25. Ascension

This was difficult to write. /

* * *

"Crack of dawn, all is gone except the will to be/  
Now they see what will be, blinded eyes to see"  
Metallica, "For Whom the Bell Tolls"

* * *

He nudged me with one of his elbows. I shook my head to gain focus. I sighed, and focused my eyes back on him. "Fine," I replied belatedly to his statement. He approached the door we had come from and turned the doorknob. I sighed and sprinted up to him. He turned and looked at me before he opened it slowly, cautiously. The door screeched opened loudly and revealed what appeared to be the hallway we had recently came from. 

Except now, the hallway was all wrong. The velvety material had formed life of its own, and seemed to be writhing. As we stepped into the hallway, the pain in my knees returned. I gritted my teeth as Sheogorath commented on the hall, "This hallway isn't right at all. This…it shouldn't be happening." He rubbed the bridge of his nose with the two first fingers of his left hand. I cocked my head. "You know more about this place than you're admitting. I know it," I remarked, pointing a finger at him without being too accusatory. He turned towards me and sighed.

"Aye," he replied quietly, "I know all about this place. I know everything about you." I folded my arms and scoffed. "Were you planning on telling me this?" I interrogated him infuriately. He folded his own arms and paced around me. "To be honest," he replied unconcernedly, "I never thought you'd make it this far." He sauntered up to the front of me and stood inches from my face. I recoiled. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked him frightfully, my voice choking on my words. He rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Most would be horrified by now," he replied indifferently, circling around me. I did not like the mind game he was playing one bit. I placed my hands on my hips. "Tell me then. Where am I?" I questioned him with frustration in my voice. He chuckled and smirked. "Walter," he replied condescendingly, "I'm sure you can figure it out." I groaned as I seethed. I turned around and glared at him with my fists clenched. He then started laughing hysterically.

"For someone claiming not to be impulsive, you_ are _volatile," he sneered at me, gazing into my eyes derisively. I narrowed my eyes at him. Nothing sets off my temper worse than being laughed at, but I needed to keep a cool head. I relaxed my body and watched his sneer fade to a scowl. I heard him walking off somewhere and I twisted around to face him. He was almost all the way down the hallway. Again, I moaned in my irritation. I licked my lips.

"Sheogorath," I yelled at him, "she's not that way." He stopped in his tracks. I watched his body tense up. I watched him slowly face me. "Do tell me where she is," he responded to my statement in a very unhappy tone of voice. He narrowed his eyes a bit in skepticism. I shouted back at him, "You're not going to find her here." He looked at me questioningly and began strolling towards me. The ground crunched and squished beneath his hard black leather boots.

It wasn't long before his face was right up in mine. His odd, glowing eyes were nothing more than mere slits. "She's not here. She never was," I said, rubbing my temples in thought. He backed up a few steps from me and crossed his arms again. "Zarrexaij, as the Daedroth," I explicated calmly, "never existed." He stared at me with offended eyes. He recoiled, and barked at me, "You liar! Think of something better to stun me with." I sighed in aggravation.

"It makes perfect sense. If she was ever real, you would be able to sense her," I argued, stroking the facial hair I was growing on my chin. He exhaled, and peered at me. He looked quite livid, as well as about to lash out on me in anger. Sheogorath asked me with a raised eyebrow, "Why would I do that?" I scratched the underside of my lower jaw. "Well," I explained hesitantly, "you _are_ the Mad God…." His nostrils flared a bit, and his both his eyebrows raised. "You need to work on your explanations," he sighed, turning around and beginning to trek back down the hall.

I grit my teeth and bit my lower lip in thought. Really, I'm not much of a people person, so empathizing with him enough to understand the situation was damned hard. "I think the gutter of your mind created it. I can imagine what solitude does to the mind of someone who can no longer say 'I' and feel like it. I guess when someone of your power wishes so deeply of something… it becomes fabricated into their world. Maybe you _thought_ you needed her, but you didn't anymore, so your unconscious mind made you kill her. You said you _made_ her, and that's not a lie, except that you made her _up._ Maybe… not only did you need someone to be with you… but someone to… punish you," I raised my rough voice. Once again, I observed him stopping in place. He spun his body around and replied, "No, that is not true at all! I much most certainly did not!"

The countenance on his face was not angry; rather, it was very alarmed because he had no expected me to figure him out like that. I approached him carefully. "You were right that we aren't so different," I remarked cool-headedly, "you're in complete denial, and that's something you've accused me of." He tilted his head and glanced at me distrustfully. He strode around me, scrutinizing me. "How do I know you aren't just trying to keep me away from her?" he questioned me, leaning forward as I turned to face him to get his face up in mine. The right side of his face twitched in scorn. I sighed and replied.

"I have no reason to do that. I want to get out of here as much as you do." Sheogorath lifted his right eyebrow and withdrew himself. "If you're deceiving me, remember that I have plenty of rationale to smite you," he reminded me in a collected voice. His taut body slackened slowly. He blinked his no longer narrowed and suspicious eyes and notified me a bit dispassionately, "I still have a memory to show you." I emitted a long breath and mentally prepared myself for the peculiar psychic pain. I held out my hands with my eyes closed and felt his smooth hands grasp mine.

The last sensations I felt that were my own was the supernatural smarting of the veins in my hands, then in my arms, then in my chest, then everywhere, and the sound of my screams of pain echoing in the hallway. His mind seized my own immediately and held it in its telepathic communication. Slowly, with his clairvoyant sight that was eerily like scrying, the darkness opened up. His senses filled my brain with frightening things. The musty, dark place didn't appear to have much going on in it. I could barely make out any details. I saw several platforms and bodies and realized the nature of this place.

It was a sepulcher. I wondered why he chose to show me a vault of cadavers. One of the bodies came into my focus. The skin of the body had long since been gone. A little bit of dust had settled over the large body. After further inspection, the body revealed itself to be quite familiar. It was the dead body of the mortal form of Sheogorath. In any case, his body, aside from lacking skin and the obviously broken neck, was in bad shape. It appeared that his body had been somewhat burned. There were holes in the muscles of the shoulders where stakes had been driven through. For a moment, I swore the feet of the body moved.

I'm pretty sure they did, too. I heard a very faint sound, and suddenly the closed eyes of the body opened. They were a tremendously bright green and almost appeared to glow. Gradually, body sat up, outstretched an arm, and inhaled noisily. I heard his body produce a faint gurgle. I recognized the gurgling as speech.

"Ooh, my nerves," the body moaned gutturally. I heard bones popping as his body sat on the longer edge of the platform. The once inanimate feet touched the dusty floor and Sheogorath's body howled in pain. "It… hurts…so…much," he whined in a voice that was slowly returning to normal. He managed to stand up and walk around in the vault.

The skinned body managed to find a torch lit area of the tomb. When Sheogorath stepped into the light, I watched his still broken neck crane to look down at himself. His broken neck made a horrible grinding, liquid sound. He groaned. "I wanted to die," he wailed, "I wanted to die!" His face, nothing more than muscle, tendon, and bone, twisted up in anguish. He covered his face with his eyes. "Oh, it hurts," he complained with a look of pain on the recognizable remnants of his face.

Sheogorath uncovered his eyes. They were tearing up and lubricating his eyes, as they probably had not done for days. "Arkay didn't protect me from this," he sighed, rubbing where his right eyebrow used to be. His eyes were now very bloodshot. He began wandering around the sepulcher. After a few minutes of stumbling around the corridors, he came across the stairs that led up to the surface. Gleefully, he climbed up the stairs and turned the doorknob of the door preventing him from releasing himself into the day or night. He frowned profoundly. It was locked. I heard Sheogorath curse, but the words were incoherent. "I don't think I have any magicka running through my body," he remarked to no one in particular. A voice behind him spoke to him.

"You silly, piteous thing. Feel deeper into yourself. You're more powerful than you think you are." Sheogorath turned around and saw a man that looked remarkably, no, exactly like him sitting on a platform downstairs. The man was wearing elaborate clothing. He grinned up at Sheogorath and waved. Sheogorath ambled down the stairs and asked him curiously, "Who are you?" The man smiled widely. The smile was…familiar.

"Why," he answered ecstatically, "I'm your conscious mind. To be precise, I'm the half that governs your memories and your connection to reality." Sheogorath blinked and looked at the man with uncertainly. He questioned him, "What does 'conscious mind' mean?" The man stood up and trotted up to the skinned Sheogorath. "It is the part of your mind that is aware to your feelings, your surroundings, and your thoughts," the man replied politely, taping his left temple and laughing. Sheogorath continued to look at him distrustfully.

"You're mad," he replied coolly, folding his skinned arms. The man frowned a bit and stroked his goatee. "Actually, you're mad. I'm just _a_ part of you. You always did have a warped connection to this 'reality'," the man replied factually, though his tone was a bit teasing. Sheogorath sighed and looked the man in the eyes. He interrogated him jadedly, "What's going on here?" The man beamed ardently again at his companion.

"Well, you died. I suppose in a sense that isn't entirely true, but that's the best way to describe it. Your soul still exists, and so does your mind. What happened when you died is that your soul ascended to the heavens… but not to _the _Heavens. Poor you. Instead, your soul went to this magnificent place called 'Oblivion'. Apparently, you caused plenty of negative change and, well, muddled things a tad bit up on Nirn, but don't worry. They reserved a nice throne for you, Sheogorath. They were lacking a Daedric Prince of Insanity, and you were the first in line for that title," he explained in a cheerful voice. Sheogorath's jaw dropped and the muscles of his face twitched. Sheogorath replied to the man, "That's nonsense." The man shrugged, and replied, "Nonsense is a type of sense. If you don't think I am being sincere, you can see for yourself in Oblivion." Sheogorath sighed, and asked the man, "How would I get into Oblivion?"

The man smiled psychotically, and his eyes lit up like morbid lanterns.. "Oh, there are several ways, my dear Sheogorath."


	26. The Id

"I'm So Sick" came on the radio when I started typing this up. Zoh my fod.

Lots of Clive Barker and Silent Hill influenced heres.

* * *

"I'm so sick, infected with/  
Where I live/  
Let me live without this/  
Empty bliss, selfishness"  
Flyleaf, "I'm So Sick"

* * *

I felt his mind give one last tug on my mind. I returned to consciousness in my own body, and found Sheogorath was gone. How that happened, I wasn't entirely sure. In order to see his memories, I had to be in contact with him, or at least I thought so. I turned around. He was still nowhere to be seen. I began to become very worried. 

I wandered towards the entrance and exit of the hallway. "Sheogorath?" I called vociferously, ambling closer and closer to the corner. My voice echoed haplessly in the hallway. When I was close enough to the corner, I looked past it. There was no sign of him. I sighed, and faced the dead end of the hallway. I tried to remember which room had a door leading to a surrealistically large stairway. If I remembered it correctly, it was the third door on the left side of the hallway. I walked up to the door, turned the handle, and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.

Well, at least there weren't any damned monsters, phantoms, whatever you want to dub them, in the room. The fireplace's light was out. The only source of light stemmed from the door of muscle and tendon. Streams of light squeezed through the cracks and into the room. Sheogorath was not in here. Outside, I heard the tiniest noise of shuffling of feet. I got thrilled at this. Therefore, I headed outside quickly.

No one was there, as far as I could see. However, as time past on I began hearing the faintest sound of someone talking. It was coming from the entrance of the hallway. Slowly, I slinked towards the origin of the sound. It was getting louder. I could make out three different sounding voices, but the words sounded like a foreign language. After a few seconds, I realized the voices were saying everything backwards, but I couldn't make heads or tails of what was being said. I waited.

After a small while, a single septim slowly rolled past the corner and past me. It was almost if it had a mind of its own. It stopped just a few steps behind me. I heard another shuffling noise. I asked the thing causing this noise, "Sheogorath, is that you?" I felt a smile infiltrate my face. I was still quite a few steps away from the corner. As I darted towards the corner, the hallway seemed to get longer and wider. I stopped when I got to the second door. I saw a tall shadow cast on the wall adjacent to the wall parallel to me.

I watched a figure slowly turn the corner. For a minute, I swore it looked like Sheogorath. "Sheogorath? Where have you been?" I inquired the figure with anxiety. I soon realized this person wasn't quite Sheogorath. There were resemblances, yes, but for the most part, it was differences. Whatever the hell this thing was, I didn't know. Its skin was deathly pale, and there was not a single hair on its body. It had eerie green eyes, and a gaunt face identical to Sheogorath's. However, the similarities disappeared there.

This figure was wearing the oddest robe. It was made of some sort of unreal leather. It covered every inch of the body except for the head and hands. The upper part was very skin tight, and formed a v where the material met at a vertex at the crotch. It bulged with male…"equipment". The bottom half that was not skin tight formed something nearly akin to an oversized kilt.

My attention returned to his face. It was so pale; it had a faint bluish tinge from the veins in the face. His countenance was that of resentment so great only his eyes truly reflected it completely. Above his right eye, I realized, rested a sizeable hole oozing fresh blood. I cringed. I asked the obviously male figure, "You're not Sheogorath, are you?" He stared at me, and for a moment, I swore the hallway contracted and we were face to face. A vein by the left side of his lips pulsed with fury. Suddenly, he emitted an enormous shout that was most certainly not the voice of one person, but three at once.

I backed up from him. "I haven't done anything," I told the figure, who didn't seem to care. He unhurriedly stomped towards me. As he walked towards me, the hallway began seeming as if it was bending and morphing. I cowered in panic. The figure smiled, or, rather, smirked loathsomely. He began sauntering on my side of the hall. He extended his left arm and touched the wall. Suddenly, it began changing. It was almost if the covering, as well as the stone that made that wall disappeared. Rapidly, it began traveling over to me. Terrified, I began running in the direction it was slithering. I tried all the door I came across and not even one would open. I had run to the end of the hallway, and there was nowhere else to turn.

It didn't seem to affect me as it past. It began invading the wall behind me and the right side of the hallway. The hallway wasn't collapsing. Rather, the walls became nothing more than metal skeletons. As I saw past the skeleton of the walls, I realized where the building was. Outside, it was nothing but gray hills, plains, and mountains. Dead trees littered the land. Sitting in the gray sky was a black hole sun that emanated white light as it sucked up matter in the Void. I felt wind brush against my face, and disembodied screams filled my ears.

I watched as the male figure neared. He easily towered over me. He was half-way down the hallway. Even though he was very much grotesque, he walked with amazing grace and dignity. I was mistaken: this figure _had_ to be Sheogorath. I was still wary of him, however. Suddenly, he began fading out. Before he vanished completely, he grinned at me. It was almost if he was taunting me.

For a moment, I just stood there. I was aroused from my daze as a loud, doleful bell began sounding. It sounded incredibly close… yet at the same time, it sounded impossibly far. Suddenly, voices, multiple differing voices, filled my head with various things. They were intolerably loud inside my head. I could decipher only a handful of the voices.

_The ritual_… a rather soft, feminine voice had said. Another voice, whose sex I could not make out said, _Are you sure?_ A string of barely understandable utterances filled my head after these two. All I could make out was _Waiting… … o… se… …ace …y aren't … …re?_ The next few were completely unfathomable. The next wasn't terribly deep, but it was understandably masculine. _Upstairs…it's upstairs_ it said. Several other voices entered my head, and some were jumbled up and made into a single string. I could comprehend the rest, but I didn't want to. The voices were maddening. Finally, I covered my ears, though I knew that really didn't help. I closed my eyes and screamed, "Stop it!"

Suddenly, the input of voices stopped. I uncovered my ears and opened my eyes. All the doors were open now. At the corner of my eyes, I noticed that something inside my pack was giving off tons of light. I opened it up and took the crystal rose out. It had become a magical torch. Smiling, I began walking to the third door on the left side. The bell tolled again. I shuddered, and made my way to the third door quickly.

I heard noises from the fourth room, so I peeked inside. It was not unlike the memory of Sheogorath's bedroom. As I stared into it, it appeared to take life, as if I was looking into the past. Sheogorath was lying in bed quietly. He looked extremely sick. His face was so pale it gave him the appearance of a specter. Zarrexaij entered through the door to the room. She was dressed in a red dress, and looked quite exultant to see him. Seeing his condition, she frowned. Zarrexaij approached the side of his bed.

"What's wrong?" she asked him curiously. He rolled onto his side and faced her. He coughed. "I'm sick from what your nurse gave me… spring salts, she called it. It's dried up my mouth and I can't eat anything without tasting it in my mouth. I can't stand up without feeling dizzy. My vision is blurred… I vomit up anything I manage to eat," he replied wearily with his zoned out eyes staring at her. She sighed and took one of his hands. She told him softly, "She gave it to you to control your moodiness." He exhaled deeply and gazed at her jadedly. "Yes, and it's making me feel horrible. I don't want to take it any more," he responded tersely, rubbing his eyes.

Zarrexaij yawned and said, "It can't be that bad." Sheogorath didn't seem to hurt by the statement, but he wasn't too pleased, either. "Well," he replied weakly, "you're not the one taking it. It's sapping the little life I have left in me." Her expression turned to one of pure irritation. She groaned in frustration. "Don't start that 'I'm only living to die' shit again," she growled at him. Sheogorath stared at her disbelievingly. He blinked, and then replied calmly, "I wasn't."

Still, she rambled on, "All you ever do is complain about how awful _you_ have it. Yeah, well, you wouldn't have a problem if you so 'poor me'." Finally, Sheogorath showed some sign of being offended. "Get out," he hissed at her. She stood up and folded her arms. Her brow wrinkled up in anger. "I was only telling it how it is," she replied stubbornly, gazing into his eyes with fury. To this, he responded with, "Yes, well, I really don't appreciate your sentiment. Get out, now."

Her countenance turned even sourer. "Fine," she replied, stamping out of the room and slamming the door shut. Sheogorath's face saddened. He turned onto his back and whimpered. "Zarrexaij," he wailed in a poignant, piercing voice, "don't leave me here alone. Please, I need you. I love you." He began sobbing. "Please don't leave me," he continued pleading, although I knew she was gone. Slowly, his figure faded out, though the sounds of his weeping faded out much gradually.

I continued gaping at the empty room. I shook my head to come back to reality. I gazed down at the rose and noticed the light had intensified. Then, I began heading into the third room. It had not changed in the several minutes since I had last been in it. Or, so I thought at first. As I neared the door, my mind began tingling. Suddenly, I was bombarded with voices again, except this time they weren't just in my mind. I was actually hearing them with my ears. They were originating from that damn door. Gingerly, I opened it.

I stepped into the stairway. The stairs themselves had remained unchanged. However, adorning the walls of the stairway were several strange paintings. I barely recognized the subject in most of them. Some of them I can't truly remember. The one that sticks out the most in my mind is the painting of Sheogorath. It was on a large, rectangular canvas. It was taller than it was wide. He was naked, but his groin was made indistinguishable by a red splatter over it. I came to realize this splatter was blood, and pins had been painted on his crotch as well. It was odd, because he didn't look like he was in physical pain, although the expression he had barely hinted at an incredibly deep mental agony.

I began climbing up the stairs. As I headed up, a thing, not unlike that of what happened to the hallway, happened. The stairs began growing larger and taller. The stretching was immense, and as I ascended, I began to think it impossible to make it up to the top. Even the steps had seemed to grow taller. I was no longer able to run up them. Instead, I had to clamber up them. After what seemed to be at least a good thirty minutes, I made it to the top. I was panting and I could barely catch my breath. I sat on the last step, and unexpectedly the stairs returned to their original size. The bell, much closer this time, rang again in its sorrowful tone. Once again, the utterances started again, only this time I seemed to be dreadfully close to where they were being produced. I stood up and turned around.

There was a single, padded door. It was very large, and easily spanned to the top of the wall it called its home. It looked made of flesh and smelled rank. Grimacing, I turned the hard doorknob too made of flesh.


	27. Destrudo

I like quoting depressing things. I also like writing depressing things. By the way... FOUR MORE CHAPTERS! WEWT!

* * *

"Growing darkness taking dawn/  
I was me, but now he's gone"  
Metallica, "Fade to Black"

* * *

I wish I hadn't opened the door. The sights inside would haunt me for ages, as you know, my companion. The room was unfeasibly vast and lit perfectly by some unseen force. Sitting in the center of this impossible room was a gigantic circular pit of slowing churning fresh blood. Whatever unfathomable turbine turning the blood was hidden deeply beneath the surface, although occasionally its jagged blades would break the surface and plunge back in. The stone here was black, red, and maroon, not unlike the stone-like material of a Daedric shrine. There were several cracks in the mortar, but in no way did the stone appear weak.

The room I was in was exceptionally cold. Occasionally, it felt like weak bursts of hot air emanated from the small cracks. Rusty chains hung from the ceiling high above. Opposite of me was an unbelievably tall platform made of the same material as the room. Because of its size, at its base sat a red and black door that seemed ominous in its silence. It seemed that the door was staring at me. I pondered what was behind the door, but I shuddered to think too hard about it. It was probably too much for my mortal mind to comprehend.

From far away, I heard the faint squeak of a door opening through the gentle droning of the turbine. I looked around and couldn't locate the source. My focus was drawn to the platform for a reason I couldn't quite put a finger on. I then realized standing up there was the form of Sheogorath the way he was in the hallway. I ambled up closer to get a better view of him. I could tell he was looking down at me in his usual derision. He began speaking me in a far heavier sophisticated inflection than usual.

"Things, as usual, have came to prove that a mortal has no concern in the affairs of the immortals," he said calmly and loudly, allowing his voice to carry across the immense room. I grit my teeth in anger. After what I had offered to help him, he was unappreciative of it. I replied to his statement indignantly, "After all I went through _for you_, this is how you return it." I craned my head up and looked at him. Though his countenance remained serious, I detected a smirk in his next avowal.

"As an immortal, I am not required to reward you for your deeds, especially ones as inadequate as _yours_," he replied coolly. I formed fists with my hands and squeezed them tightly. I seethed quietly and kept my tongue in check. "Now, please, do not interfere," he said, nearing the ledge. He spread his arms apart and took a deep breath. His eyes focused on the floor. Not heeding his request, I said, "If you banish yourself, you'll be in the Darkness alone for a very long time." He stared at me for a few moments before replying.

"You're right. Honestly, at this point, it means nothing to me," he replied, dropping his arms. His arrogance disgusted me. "Sheogorath," I addressed him, baffled by his selfishness, "you act as if you're the first to feel incredible, crippling pain." He blinked and his expression flickered with annoyance. He responded calmly, though he folded his arms, "I might not have been the first, but I defined pain for everyone else." I sighed. "For a god who easily has the most worshippers," I retorted, "you don't seem to deserve them very much." He seemed to finch from the remark for a moment, but it was most likely my imagination.

Suddenly, he turned wrathful, "From a mortal," he replied casually, though his irritation was obvious, "that signifies nothing." He turned around for a moment. I wondered what he was thinking. I suppose for a Mad God, he was acting completely normal and perfectly lucid. His body twisted around again and he faced me. "Why do you want to banish yourself?" I asked him, sitting down and gazing up at him. I wanted to divert him for as long as I could. He inhaled deeply and exhaled with just as much force. For a moment, the surroundings seemed to quiet.

"I am alone and miserable. As you said it, the daedroth Zarrexaij was nothing more than the creation of my mind. I have never been banished before, but I only assume as I am given a neonymic, some of the pain will cease because I will be altered," he explained to me succinctly. I'm sure in any other form he would have gone more in depth with his "problem". Still, I didn't quite understand his logic. I asked him curiously, "Don't you have Daedric minions?" He paced around on the platform for a while.

"Yes, I do," he answered sadly, "but being in a crowd doesn't dissipate feelings of loneliness." I thought of something to say in reply to this, but I couldn't find any words. He was right. In what he had just said, there was no madness. There was nothing I could argue. The madman was far wiser than I was. I sat down and had one hand in my hair. Oh, why, why was he called the Comforter of Men? My headache started again, and I groaned.

"Now, Walter, you know for whom the bell tolls," he said ominously while the bell tolled again. He was serious. He neared the ledge again, and I knew he was going to jump. I stood up and stretched out my arm, like it could stop him from jumping the ledge. I knew my words were pretty much futile, but I tried, "I won't let you do this." He glared at me as he prepared himself, as if he was daring me to stop him.

"Sheogorath, you'll lose influence on Nirn. The number of lunatics will drop significantly if you go, as will the number of worshippers as they realize your presence on Nirn is lacking," I pleaded him, feeling my face flush with emotion. Sheogorath stared at me with indecisiveness. He replied unconcernedly, "Nirn all ready belongs to the Daedric Prince Azura." At that point, I wanted to strangle the stubbornness out of him.

I knew my countenance grew very sour. I inched closer to the platform and door. I interrogated him, "How do you know the drop will successfully banish you?" The light in my part of the room slightly, but Sheogorath's part darkened almost completely. In the faint light where he stood, I could see a smirk on his face. "It's simple; I change the height of the room and platform to accommodate for my landing," he replied in a calm tone of voice, but I sensed the mania hidden in it. I sighed and crossed my arms.

"Why'd you chose me, huh?" I asked him irately, glaring up at him. The room lit up well again, and the expression on his pallid, hairless face was devious. "I choose you," he explained, "because you are, or, rather, were remarkably balanced between the realms of sanity and insanity. You're outside of reality enough to see it as it is, but you're placed in it enough not to go completely mad from seeing it." I felt some of my facial muscles twitch. "So, I'm some sort of sick experiment to you?" I asked him, taking offense to being treated like I was a mere plaything.

He chuckled, and answered nonchalantly, "No. I knew you'd find her, and you did. Your job is done. Our unsaid deal is settled. The puzzle is solved." I felt tears begin to stream down my face. "You don't care about my _life_," I screamed at him. A ghoulish smile crossed his face. "Walter, you don't have much of what you'd deem a 'life'. You spend most of your time bent over some book or scroll, sneering at other people in your superiority complex. I think I'm doing you quite a favor by allowing you to die where no one can hear you scream or whimper in the unbearable silence of being _alone_. I'd let you go mad on Nirn but the limiting shell of your mind is far too damaged to allow such an agonizing range of feelings," he replied sinisterly, a spine-chilling gleam lighting up his eyes to torches.

I moaned and growled in rage at Sheogorath. He broke in laughter, his guffawing echoing insufferably through the enormous room. "You're a coward!" I yelled at him with tears still streaming down my face. What I had said seemed to enrapture him. In between his insane chortling, he remarked mockingly, "Such big words from such a small being." At this point, it looked like he was more intent on insulting me than immortal suicide.

I darted for the door. "Let me up there," I demanded as I twisted the doorknob and found it locked. I heard his faint snickers as I began banging on the door with my fists. After minutes of screaming at him to open the door and banging on the door, I hurled my back against it and slid down. I began weeping and babbling curses to myself. "All I did was try to help you, and this is what I get in return!" I shouted at him, my voice frequently cracking as I cried. The sounds of his snickering stopped, but I could here him "tsk tsk"ing.

"I pity you for putting trust in me," he laughed, his boots audibly clanking on the stone as he paced around. I cursed at him, "Damn you! You bloody bastard! After all the shit I go through to help you, you _deride_ me!" I began to sob harder, and I heard my own weeping echo in the room. For a few moments, he made absolutely no noise. Then, he replied to my insults, "You could have said 'please and thank you'." I heard the lock on the door click.

I stood up and turned around towards the door. I sniveling, wiped my eyes with my sleeves, and turned the sharply notched doorknob warily. It was a daedric door. I opened the door, and peered inside. It was another hallway, with only one door up a set of tall, daedric looking, spiraling stairs. The walls were flesh colored and covered with a filmy, web-like red material. Some of this material streamed across wall to wall. Other tendrils of it climbed down to the ground. Every few seconds, the walls began to glow red and the hall heated up slightly. The hallway was quite damp and the walls occasionally secreted a clear but foul-smelling substance.

Taking a deep breath, I began sprinting through the hallway. The cobweb-like object caught me a few times and covered me in liquid as I leapt through it. It turned out to be fresh blood. If I wasn't so intent on getting to the other side, I would have stopped and vomited. After minutes of darting through the crystallized clouds of blood, I finally got to the stairs. As I took my first step, the stairs growled like a beast. There was a single, crude rail on the left side of the stairs.

I began climbing up the stairs, clutching determinedly to the rail. As I ascended, the rail began heating up, and the red streaks on it began glowing orange. I let go of the rail briefly as it burnt my left hand. Sighing, I cast a powerful Fire Shield spell and continued my journey. The stairs were much larger than they appeared from the end of the hallway. I seemed to traverse them for years. As I got higher and higher, the walls began turning rusty.

I stopped for a minute and wiped my brow. I was sweating, and I smelt of rotten flesh, blood, and sweat. The Fire Shield spell was still going strong. I looked up the winding stairs. I had no idea how long I had to go. Surely, Sheogorath had jumped by now, but something in my stomach told me otherwise. After a minute of recuperation, I began traveling up the stairs again.

I noticed as I continued the walls were beginning to turn black. They also smelled squalid. I grimaced at the observation but did not stop. I felt my headache pounding, and my leg joints complaining as I went up those damned daedric stairs. Finally, the walls turned pure black, and after climbing one more spiral they were streaked with red. I knew I was close now. Though I was sore and tired, I urged my body to dash up the remaining stairs. I began running, feeling the hot air turn to cool as I soared up two more spirals of stairs and came to a platform. The platform was small, and the door, daedric like its surroundings, was there.

I was panting and gasping for breath, but I knew I could not rest at this point. Again, I turned a doorknob, and let it creak open threateningly.


	28. A Single Tear

Had to quote Clive Barker eventually... if I didn't already.

* * *

"'No tears, please. It's a waste of good suffering.'"  
Clive Barker, _The Hellbound Heart

* * *

_ As it opened, I watched Sheogorath dash to the door opposite of the one I was standing it. At that point, I realized he was wearing a black cloak. It fluttered like a grotesque bird behind him. He sneered at me and opened the door. He quickly traveled through it and slammed it shut. Growling, I chased after him. As I ran after him, I couldn't help but mumble under my breath, "This better be some strange dream I'm having." I opened the door and went through it. The door closed abruptly behind me. 

Now, I was in a completely circular room. The room was also made of Daedric material. However, this room was much warmer, and was lit by various torches on the cracked walls. Sheogorath was standing in the middle with his arms folded. I approached him slowly. Stroking his chin, he hissed at me, "You did this." I stopped where I was. He began ambling towards me, and I could see the veins in his body bulging, especially the ones in his face, threatening to free themselves from their prison. "I did nothing," I replied quietly, my voice barely above a whisper as I gazed at Sheogorath.

For less than a minute, it appeared that he wasn't there. He had simply faded out into nothing. All was quiet for that brief moment. Then, I felt breath on the back of my neck. I turned around and there he was, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "You took her away," he retorted between his teeth. I blinked and stared at him with a bemused expression. "I-I only did what you told me," I stammered, recoiling as he began cornering me. His expression turned even more resentful.

"Yes, but if you hadn't, she'd still be here. I _need_ her," he replied curtly, walking wide circles around me. I sighed, and contemplated an argument. I protested, "There's your problem. You're like some love-sick ma…mortal who thinks they 'need' someone to function." He halted and stared at me. Sheogorath seemed to think about this for a few moments. He tilted his head and asked me, "Do you think I am like that?"

I nodded, and explained, "Your acting like her daedroth self will you help. She didn't help you in the past. She can't possibly help you in the future." He chewed lightly on his lower lip. "I suppose you are right. It's not like I have her soul for keeping, anyways," he stated coldly, taking a deep breath and sniffling. I felt my forehead wrinkle as my expression changed to pure confusion. I neared him and touched his arm.

"Where did her soul go?" I questioned him curiously, looking up into his blazing green eyes. He gazed at me sadly and replied, "Aetherius. She made it to Aetherius, even after the pain she caused me. She should have gone here, but… no." He turned around, facing away from me. I gripped one of his broad shoulders and squeezed it. "Being alone doesn't mean you have to be lonely," I comforted him softly, trying to peer over his dorsal area to see his face.

He abruptly twisted his body around to face me. He grinned widely, and his eyes twinkled. The grin was a bit…insane and awkward. The gleam in his eyes scared me, and I knew something wasn't quite right. "You're right," he replied hysterically, "I don't have to be alone. I can keep you here for all eternity." Slowly, I backed up from him, holding my hands up non-threateningly. I told him nervously, "That's not necessary." His eyes were filled with nothing other than a horrible homicidal intent.

"Oh, it is," he countered in a rasping voice that was still somehow aristocratic, "after the consequences of what you've done to me." He stopped his pursuit on me for a brief moment and pointed one of his index fingers up. Sheogorath continued his bloody mad speech. "After all, Walter, do unto others as they do unto you," he snarled, tightening his eye at me to slits. I was about to make a sprint for the door, but I reasoned he would lock it. Sighing, I exclaimed, "I trusted you!" He tittered madly.

"I'm sorry. Didn't your mum ever tell you not to trust men who impersonate bankers?" he taunted me, wavering one of his index fingers at me. I howled in frustration and turned away from him. I clenched my fists and seethed silently. Sheogorath laughed boomingly and it reverberated obnoxiously in the cavernous room. "You mortals are so amusing," he said into one of my ears, clutching my sides and craning his face uncomfortably close to him. Sheogorath then planted an unwanted kiss on my left cheek, and I twisted my body around slightly. As he withdrew his head, I hit him in the face with one of my fists.

He retreated instantly, and spat at me, "How uncouth!" He lunged at me and wrapped his hands around my neck. I began prying his hands from my neck. He was much stronger than he appeared to be. When I finally managed to get his hands off me, I felt him tugging at my robe. Perturbed, I knocked him over and watched him land on his back. The wind was knocked out of him, but he proceeded to stand back up. Then, he vanished.

For several moments, I scanned the room for any sign of Sheogorath. I stood in tense silence, waiting for the moment he reappeared and continued his assault on me. I listened for the faintest sound, and watched for the slightest movement. For what was most likely minutes there was nothing but me in that silent room. I sighed and started for the door.

As I advanced on it, the door too disappeared. I tried to swallow away the lingering taste of bile in the back of my throat. I admit that I was quite terrified at that point. Sheogorath was bound to appear any moment. I knew when he did it would be most dire. I laid my back against where the door once was, and saw that the door reappeared on the opposite side of the room. I started for it.

After I was not but a few steps away, I was interrupted. "Not so fast," I heard the voice of Sheogorath resonate. Naturally, I stopped and spun to face him. His countenance was somber and I knew to listen. He blinked, and the image of him faded out. He rematerialized only a step in front of me. "What makes you think you can leave now?" he questioned me bitterly, gazing daringly into my eyes. I cleared my throat and sighed.

"I think I've been through enough," I said, turning away from him. I expected to be looking at the door, but instead, I was peering at the unpleasant sight of Sheogorath staring at me angrily. I wanted to moan in my impatience, but I knew it was inappropriate and impolite. He informed me, "You haven't '_been through enough_' yet." I started to turn away and he stopped me by clutching my shoulders. He looked at me poignantly.

"Do stop," he requested politely, sighing. I pushed him away him me. "Don't try to act pleasant when you've put me through hell to find your imaginary lover," I barked, walking away from him. I felt him pull me back into his arms. He whispered into my ears, "If I were you, I'd start using a little more tact when you speak to me." I felt his sharp teeth graze the lobes of my ear.

"Let go of me," I demanded, writhing in his arms. His clutch on me intensified. He was holding me by the shoulders. I felt his nails begin to dig into my skin. I struggled, kicking and flailing in the air as he picked me up. I still marvel that something so pale and weakly looking would be able to pick me up. I guessed he had the strength as a Daedric Prince, and he was more than a little mad at me. I felt his hot breath against the nape of my neck. He held me close to his body. Sheogorath whispered into my right ear, "Calm down, Walter, and I'll release you."

I relaxed in his grip. He gently let me down to the ground. I spun around to face him, and he must have seen my intent through my body language. I lunged at him and knocked him to the ground. I was on his body, and trying desperately to take a punch at his face. He fought back, scratching and hitting me with notable ferocity. He cursed at me incoherently.

I sat up and took a swing at his face. He blocked it and twisted the arm, which invoked a loud scream of pain from me. I stared into Sheogorath's eyes, and they were burning with a single-minded desire to kill me. His countenance was completely zoned out. He was concentrated, and his mind was now completely in its instinctual mode to survive. His hands closed around my throat again, and I craned my head slightly. I bit into his arm, and he groaned through his teeth.

He released his grip on my neck, but he was still intent on harming me. I felt his legs kicking beneath me, trying to knock me off balance. I grabbed his black robe with my left hand and took another try at hitting him. This time, I felt him clamp extremely sharp _fangs_ on my fist. He bit firmly. I wailed in pain, and sought to recoil my bitten hand, but could not. His toothy embrace on my right hand was very strong. Letting go of his robe and wrapping my legs around him, I used my left hand to punch his face.

The idea was tantalizing, but the result was terrible. He only clamped down harder on impact, but he let go. He had broken the skin, and the pain was horrible. I held the bloody hand for a small while before he sat up and bit my neck. Yelping in pain, I grabbed him by the neck and tried to get him off. As I attempted to lever him from me, his teeth sunk further, and I began feeling lightheaded. I could hear him sucking on my neck, moaning and relishing the taste of my coppery blood.

Sitting on the edge of consciousness, I managed to push him down again. I had done it with such force he was shortly stunned, and I managed to land a hit. As my fist made contact with his close mouth, I heard it make a sickly sound. I stood up and gazed at his form. He rolled over onto his side and coughed up blood. I winced and began to feel guilty for attacking him like that. For a moment, he looked utterly pathetic and fully human with his mouth red with blood. As he rolled back over onto his back, I bent over slightly and over him a hand.

A few seconds elapsed before he processed what I meant to do. He blinked his green eyes, and clasped my hand. I pulled him upwards quickly. I watched him cough a bit more and proceed to brush off his robe. Truly, I felt horrible for what I had done. Ambling over to him, I reached over to touch him. I watched a single, silvery tear stream down from the inner corner of Sheogorath's right eye. Suddenly, an odd thing happening. His skin began cracking, and in period of time that was much less than a blink of an eye, it fell off and blew away into oblivion. It revealed his previous form of a banker. One piece of the mask was left on his right sleeve, and he brushed it off.

He cocked his head at me and asked, "What are you gawking at?" His tone was more teasing than irate. I answered him uncertainly, "Nothing." I shook my head as if I had been daydreaming. My attention turned to the door we were not far from. "Can we go through it now?" I asked him politely, touching his right arm. He lifted a reddish eyebrow. He extended an arm towards the door. He insisted, "Go ahead. I'll follow behind you." I raised my eyebrows at him but did not question his motives.

I began strolling up to the daedric-appearing door. Sheogorath was not far behind me. I twisted the evil-looking ebony doorknob and swung it open. I gulped, and looked inside the next room.


	29. Passive

About time I wrote another chapter, eh? I chose the quote since Sheogorath, in the ES world, is a bit of black hole sun. Or maybe I'm taking "Sithis-shaped hole" a little literally...

* * *

"I can tell you why/  
People die alone/  
I can tell you I'm/  
A shadow on the sun"  
Audioslave, "Shadow on the Sun"

* * *

The next room appeared to be relatively mundane compared to the rest of the rooms. It was a little dark, and some of the walls on our side of the room were slightly blackened, but aside from that, the room was unexpectedly normal. Lying patiently in front of us was a tidy, unelaborate wooden desk. A leather chair, presumably Sheogorath's, sat in its opening. Sitting on his desk was a quill and a single inkwell. The naked simplicity of the room astonished me.

Behind the desk were shelves of leather-bound books of information. I didn't dare think of what they contained, and I had no wish to investigate. Near the shelves was a single, plain door. It was made of a deep, dark red wood. For a moment, I pondered what lay behind it. The thought quickly vanished as Sheogorath ambled over to the chair, slid it out of place, and sat down. "I tire of standing," he explained simply, leaning forward in the chair. There was a weary light in his eyes. He sighed, and closed his eyes. He leaned backwards.

"I want this obstruction to be over," he told me under his breath, looking down at his desk. He sighed, and glanced at me. He said to me plainly, "Things aren't nearly as simple as they seem to be." I nodded apprehensively and approached his desk. "You know more than I do," I stated, caressing the hard surface of the desk. I made brief eye contact with him, and then looked away. The supernatural luminosity of his eyes almost had an evil quality to them. Obtaining eye contact with him for any period was unnerving.

Slowly I walked to his side of the desk. Despite his fatigue, his shame, and his depression, he still looked surprisingly, almost inappropriately, proud. I gazed over his meditative countenance. His right index finger nervously outlined his pinkish lower lip. He looked up at me and raised an eyebrow. Then he lifted them both. "Are you anticipating something from me?" he interrogated me suspiciously, his eyes thinning slightly. I shook my head slowly.

"Since we know Zarrexaij isn't here, why am I not currently on my plane of existence?" I quizzed him, narrowing my own eyes. I suppose in a way I did lie; I fully expected him to know everything that was happening. Sheogorath, for a moment, said nothing. He struggled on a few words, but finally, they came out. "Things are not that simple. They're never that simple, Walter," he replied softly, the radiance in his eyes intensifying threefold. He smiled and picked up the quill on his desk.

"This is a quill. Right?" he asked me, looking up at me with an uncharacteristic lucidity. I looked at him with uncertainty. I answered him, "Yes." Sheogorath turned it over and investigated it. His expression changed to one of playfulness. "Just a quill? Nothing less and nothing more?" he continued questioning me. I began to rethink my answer. "Well…" I replied and searched for the reply he was looking for. He emitted a soft chuckled.

"What makes this place so different," he explained calmly, "is that the true nature of things is easily revealed. If I say this is a quill, it is a quill. If I believe that it is a sword, it becomes a sword." He placed it on the desk and stared at it for a moment. The quill quivered and writhed, and it became a silver short sword. I blinked, and turned my attention back to him.

"Think about it," he said coolly, "it applies even to you. Say your name a couple of thousand times. It starts loosing its meaning. It starts sounding _foreign_. Even the word 'I' begins to sound strange. Your sense of self is easily altered. Illusionists are experts of altering not only theirs, but the consciousness of others." I thought about what he was trying to convince me of for a moment. "I never studied Illusion much," I replied nonchalantly. I began to whisper my name a few times. Sheogorath grinned widely. I looked at him, startled that he was actually right.

"Nothing is exactly what it seems, especially here. I suggest you keep that in mind," he told me, his eyes staring into mine. I paced behind him in thought. He had a point. If he wasn't playing mind games with me, it meant several things. It's possible that he was lying about a past life. He could also not even be Sheogorath. I brought this up. I approached the front of his desk and gazed into his eyes. I addressed him firmly, "If you're being sincere, and not playing games with me, it's quite possible you're not even Sheogorath. It's possible you've been lying to me over the course of this damned journey."

He just grinned and laughed. "What would be my motive behind that?" he asked me composedly, his wide smile still radiant and sincere. If he had questioned me with malice, I would have reacted immediately. He had given me something to ponder deeply. I bit my lower lip, and said the first logical thing that came to my mind. "You're the Mad God. It's your duty to drive people insane. Likewise, you're prone to misleading half the time," I replied coolly, leaning towards him. He leaned forward and the room seemed to sigh.

"As much as I like that response, the Guild of Mages would have subtracted points for that. You can do better, scholar," he reacted earnestly, leaning backwards in the chair. The room seemed the almost contract as he relaxed. I sighed, and replied, "It's obvious nothing here is what it seems the first time. You knew from the start my mind was already damaged. It's also easier to drive an intellectual mad. They have more substance to destroy, and their imagination? It's limitless, isn't it? If I repeated anything that happened, and it was untrue, I'd look extremely mad, wouldn't I? It's not hard to see that I'm your pawn now." Sheogorath tittered and clapped. His grin turned fierce, and his eyes burned with a terrifying fervency. I lifted an eyebrow and wrinkled my forehead. He began cackling.

He leaned forward again and said to me, "Pretentiously spoken, but nevertheless correct." His face was too close to mine for any sort of comfort. I felt his gentle, cold breath on me. His arrogant countenance made me shudder. It was equally cold and calculating. Again, he withdrew back to his chair, and again the room shivered. I felt as if he was scrutinizing me for a peculiar reason. His emerald eyes narrowed a bit, and he caressed his goatee whilst looking at me.

The silence between us, as usual, was not easy. His facial expressions as he thought were not at all easy to read. Occasionally his face would twitch, as if a negative pondering had reached across his mind. Personally, I was a bit afraid to ask even the simplest thing that came to his warped mind. I leaned inwards towards him. As if he read my mind, he stated, "Oh, I was merely thinking about the lack of death in this place." I blinked, and shook my head. Scrunching up my face in both confusion and mistrust, I asked him, "What?"

He groaned and looked at me with just as much perplexity. "What? I just said that I was merely thinking about the lack of _tea_ in this place," he replied, looking at me strangely. I shook my head and blinked. I explained to him a bit hesitantly, "I thought…you said something else." Sheogorath raised his eyebrows and replied, "I see." I'm still not sure if that's what he, in truth, said. I'll never know, either, unless I ever bother to scry.

He pushed himself in the chair and I watched it slide backwards. He stood up, and wandered behind me. He laid his hands on my shoulders and whispered into my left ear sensually, "Soon." I twisted in his hands and faced him with my eyebrows raised. I didn't know at the time what he meant _exactly_ by the statement. Later I easily deduced what it meant. He knew it was right; it was soon.

"Can we leave now?" I asked him wearily, looking up at him. He shook his head. "I have something in mind before we leave this room," he replied, looking into my eyes defiantly. I exhaled and didn't bother to argue with him. He quietly said to me, "I know you want out of this room, but as I said, I have reason to stay." Like Sheogorath, weariness had its grasp on me. I felt staggeringly tired. I found myself absent-mindedly leaning against him with my eyes closed.

"Don't fall asleep," he whispered, lifting my head from his chest. I opened my eyes lazily and looked up at him. It was hard to focus on him. I moaned and forced myself to stand up straight. I wobbled a bit before I gained perfect balance. "What are we going to do?" I asked him groggily, yawning. Sheogorath replied quickly, "Nothing much at all." He gazed at me, and asked me, "Will you search for something in the logs for me?" He tilted his head slightly and I sighed. "I shall," I replied jadedly, wandering over to the shelves.

"I want you to search for the log that has a mention of a man named Durante Varcaelin," he clarified softly. I nodded absent-mindedly and looked at the logs. They were arranged by date, starting with the Merethic Era, which had the most logs. The Merethic Era was denoted by a little "ME" on the spine. The next one, the 1st Era, was nearly as large, was signified creatively by "1E". The 2nd Era wasn't nearly as thick, and not surprisingly, its logs were marked with a "2E". Finally, I came across the right section on the bookcases: the 3rd Era, or "3E".

I chose the very last leather-bound book. The very first year listed was 3E 412. I flipped to 3E 437, which, at the time, was the current year. Several names and notes were under the first month of the year in alphabetical order. I scanned through pages of names and notes until I eyed the name "Durante". There it was, "Durante Varcaelin" in plain letters under Sun's Dusk. I read the notes beneath his name. They related to his Daedroth Zarrexaij and the investigation over the seven brothers that committed ritualistic suicide. He had realized the truth far before I did, and went mad because of it.

"I have it," I announced to Sheogorath, putting my right thumb on the page and closing it gently. I ambled over to him and opened it up. He told me plainly, "You weren't the only one to realize Zarrexaij wasn't truly real in any typical sense. He's in an asylum now. If he were younger, he probably wouldn't have gone from sane to barking mad in such a short period. His mind couldn't handle it. Now he's a shell of a person who does nothing but scream and wail." As he spoke to me, he stared off into the distance dreamily. He didn't smile, though I expected him to. He frowned, and looked at it. He flipped a couple of pages ahead and shoved it into my face.

Underneath the current month, I saw several names I didn't recognize. One I did manage to recognize was the name of my old master, Kurtis Cant. It didn't surprise me he was listed, because he was known to "revere" Sheogorath. Underneath his name was the unelaborate explanation of _committed suicide after suffering violent hallucinations_. I scanned the names a bit more. My mouth dried up, I felt my skin horripilate, and a cold sweat engulfed my body.

I saw my name. I swallowed the little saliva I had in my mouth. The notes on me were _Paranoid delusions; also suffers from delusions of being superior to others_. I sighed, and looked up at Sheogorath, who was hardly grinning at me. His countenance was gloomy. I found myself grimacing at his dark expression. "Are you shocked?" he interrogated me. His voice was lightly flavored with mirth. I wanted to scream at his sadistic enjoyment of my brash reactions.

I replied, "Yes, of course I am shocked." Sheogorath's lips peeled back into a horrible smirk. "You don't think you are mad," he stated ecstatically, his speech breathy. I nodded and made my counter, "No, I don't." I gazed into his eyes with indignation. He snickered and smiled with vile delight. He responded tauntingly, "The insane never do." I turned around and crossed my arms.

Sheogorath patted my shoulders. "Don't play deaf on me. Face me and you face yourself," he whispered huskily in an inviting tone of voice. His breath on my neck was hot. Twisting around to face him, I inquired him insolently, "What do you want"?

His face separated into a dreadful beam.


	30. My Perfect Enemy

This chapter is definitely mature. Warning: Homosexuality/mansex 

Just remember: One chapter until the finale and the batfuck insane ending.

* * *

"Leaning over you here, cold and catatonic/  
I catch a brief reflection of what you could and might have been/  
It's your right and your ability/  
To become…my perfect enemy…"  
A Perfect Circle, "Passive"

* * *

The room seemed to groan and shudder. "I want," he answered softly, bring his face close to mine, "to be one with you." His grin, though mildly predatory, seemed almost reassuring and gentle. He closed his eyes and sighed as his lips made contact with mine. Maybe it was just my imagination, or perhaps it was just my body, but the room seemed to warm up slightly. He wrapped his arms around me firmly. I closed my eyes and let myself go to him. My lips responded passionately. He reacted by pressing himself further against me. I moaned into his mouth and shivered in excitement. 

I craned my head to deepen the kiss, wincing a bit as his facial hair abraded against mine. Gingerly, I probed his lips with my tongue. I opened my eyes and watched him open his own. Sheogorath looked at me curiously. Nevertheless, he permitted me to slide my tongue into his mouth. I ran my tongue over his teeth, which though were quite human, that were sharp. I observed him close his eyes lazily. I felt him very obviously aroused against me and groaned into his mouth again.

His embrace tightened, and his tongue met unconfidently with my own. I wrapped my arms around him as I teased his tongue with mine. My hands slithered all over his backside. Likewise, his hands too wandered over me, though he boldly took to caressing the right side of my buttocks. Quivering, I pulled away from him so that I could disrobe. I watched him slowly unbutton his waistcoat as if the action were a high art of sorts. Watching his hands shedding off the waistcoat, then the elaborate white dress shirt mesmerized me. I lost my patience in gazing at him and pulled off my robe, throwing it to the floor not too far away from me. As I knelt to take off my boots, I realized Sheogorath was doing the same with his usual unhurriedness.

After he freed himself of the confinements of his boots, he approached me from the front. He placed his hands on my boney hips and pressed my lower body against his own. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kissed his salty lips. He emitted a faint, brief sigh of pleasure. His hands and arms slipped around my abdomen. Releasing him from the kiss, I looked briefly into his piercing eyes. He gazed at me, and dove straight into a kiss on my lips. He twitched against my slender body as I licked his lips and slid my tongue into his mouth.

Sheogorath caressed my backside with a touch so soft I writhed. He closed his eyes and sank into the kiss. His tongue flicked onto mine teasingly. A single eye of his opened questioningly, as if to ask if he had done it right. I gently pulled away from the kiss. He lazily opened his eyes. "Please," I begged of him, "make love to me" He let a hand slink down and groped my arse. Hesitantly, he let me go, and spun me around. Blinking, I stood motionless as I heard him shuffle behind me.

When I turned around, he was sitting in the chair, digging through the drawers of his desk. He pulled out an odd vial of a liquid of a thick consistency. The vial and liquid were colorless and very much transparent. I watched him open the vial and apply the strange liquid to his aroused manhood. He groaned, capped the vial, set it on the desk, and quickly slid off the chair. He sauntered up to me with a curiously sexual waggle in his hips. Once again, he turned me around. Spreading my legs slightly, he began slowly pushing himself inside me.

Sheogorath grunted, and similarly, I growled in pleasure. He wrapped his arms around my chest and began thrusting. He kissed the back of my neck. I felt his strained breath on my neck. I threw my head back and he rested his head on my left shoulder. In my ear, I heard his gentle panting. He laid a kiss on the left side of my face. I moaned boisterously as he licked and nibbled on my neck. Closing my eyes, I smiled as his pace slowly increased.

He squeezed me lightly. The feelings of pleasure overtaking my senses were so powerful I felt myself shaking feebly against him. This seemed to bring him very close to the edge. His breathing increasing in volume, and the pace that he made love to me increased sharply. As his flesh made contact with my own, it made a loud slapping sound. The sound was maddening. His body rumbled as a murmured moan escaped between his clenched teeth.

Finally, he could take no more. His short nails were pressing into my skin painfully. He bit my neck, suffocating a loud groan. I reached backwards and stroked his body to the best of my ability. Sheogorath exclaimed something so intensely that, if he weren't experiencing such carnal bliss, I would have thought him to be enraged. He had shouted as he was just about to reach his release, "Walter." He strung my name out much like the string of a lute for a good four seconds. Several other guttural sounds of satisfaction followed. He collapsed against me and panted harshly.

As I reentered reality, I realized him and I were very sweaty. His hair against my neck was very damp. Sheogorath rested against me for a short while. When he roused, he gazed upon me affectedly. He released his embrace on me. I turned around and watched him back up a few inches. He grinned at me wryly. "Want your turn?" he asked hoarsely, looking down at my arousal. I nodded, grinning back at him. He opened the vial again, laying the cork on the desk. Impatiently I wandered over. He smiled mischievously at me. Sheogorath poured some of the liquid onto his hands. Then, I gasped as his impossibly frigid hands stroked and fondled my groin, applying the substance to me. He tittered in delight.

He spun around and leaned a bit over the desk. Blinking, I gazed at him for a moment. Obscenely, he wriggled his body at me, urging me on. Positioning myself behind him, I placed my hands on his waist. Slowly he began bending forward more over the desk until his upper body was on it. He moved the inkwell away from him. Gingerly, I began penetrating him, clutching his waist as his body eagerly engulfed my manhood. I groaned at the sensation. Closing my eyes, I began thrusting into him. Again, the temperature in the room seemed to rise. Sheogorath made several noises of bliss, and it sent me in an entirely different reality. I sighed contently and began to thrust slightly faster.

As I was in my own little world, occasionally he interrupted me with long moans of gratification. I felt my face twist into a smile of bliss. His body quivered against mine as I slapped up against him with each solid thrust. Throwing my head back yet again, I grasped his waist firmer. The noises of our congress, though faint to me, were overpowering. Opening my eyes, I saw him clawing at the desk. His eyes shut tightly and he bit his lower lip, resisting the need to vocalize. He muffled a sound of his ecstasy. Rumbling in satisfaction, I rammed into him forcefully, watching his face contort in rapture. I felt myself thrown vehemently in the way of fulfillment.

As I neared closer and closer to the edge, my head began to tingle. At first, it was very feeble. As I progressed closer and closer, its power amplified. Soon the tingling became a throb. The throbbing became ache. Just before I reached climax, ache matured into intense smarting. I felt a shadow slither over my mind sickeningly. Too consumed in the pleasure of the act to care, I sped up. Groaning loudly, I pumped into him a few more times before my body freed itself. As my release came powerfully, the pain slowly vanished. I toppled over onto him, panting onto his pale, sweaty body. He sighed happily.

Exhaling heavily, I began propping myself up. I stood up quickly, nearly falling over in the process. I felt exhausted and could hardly stand upright. Sheogorath pushed himself off the desk and stood perfectly tall. He ambled over to his pile of clothes and began putting them back on. I stared at the walls as he fully dressed himself. For a moment, the walls seemed to move. I shook my head in disbelief and the imagined movement stopped.

I faced Sheogorath and watched him put on his last boot. He looked up at me and sighed. "Sex," he said whilst standing up, "disgusts and entices me." I nodded and replied, "That goes for others too, about the disgust part." Approaching my pile of clothes, I slipped on my robe and boots. He stared off at the walls and rubbed his forehead in though. "The ones who cite it as the ultimate expression of love forget that each time the act is done, the one penetrating becomes less and less," he stated jadedly, still zoned out. I walked to his side and peered at him curiously.

"Well, two souls become one in the act, don't they?" I asked him curiously, gazing at him in disbelief. He turned his head towards me. He replied calmly, "They do, but we all have our teeth." I raised an eyebrow and didn't say much more about the subject. Later, his words had a sick sort of irony about them. He seemed more than a tad bitter about his loss of Zarrexaij. I couldn't really blame him, though I didn't know his pain. I didn't have the connection he had to her. I was the manifestation's plaything, and he was the source of her passion. It made sense that he needed a fragment of her. It was just so tragic that even his aggrandized figment of her had even more fatal flaws.

"I'm tired," I told him in a weak voice. He exhaled deeply and clutched one of my shoulders. "Soon," he informed me, smiling, "soon." So true his words would be. I wandered over to his desk and sat in the chair. Yawning, I muttered torpidly, "You know, this feels like such a nightmare sometimes." Sheogorath smiled widely at me and chuckled. He moved towards the chair and clutched it. I tilted my head upwards. "If only it was," he said to me softly, his grin sinister.

I felt my consciousness begin to fade. I heard him chortle. Everything around me seemed to spin wildly as I fell asleep. "Remember, Walter," he whispered into my ear softly, his facial hair tickling me, "Vaernima may hold your nightmares, but I hold your fears." My eyes rolled back, and my eyelids closed. I fell asleep, and I heard Sheogorath no more. I did not dream at all in my slumber. In my sleep, I turned in the chair as much as I could. It was a restless slumber. By the time I woke up, it felt like I had slept for an eternity.

I opened my eyes slowly. The room was completely silent in its brooding. My eyes opened completely. The environment had not changed at all. Standing up, I looked around the room. Peculiarly, Sheogorath was gone. Panic tingled in my stomach and painted my mind black with dread. The pain in my joints returned, and my head throbbed dimly. "Sheogorath!" I called out worriedly, my countenance fully expressing my unease. No answer came. Sighing, I turned towards the single door in the room.

A note lay right in front of it. I picked it up carefully and read its contents. It had been done fairly recently, as some of the ink was still wet. I recognized it as Sheogorath's handwriting. It read, in elegant, black letters:

"Walter:  
Never are things exactly what they seem  
What may seem real, may be a simple dream  
Gaze into the leaden mirror and you will understand.  
- Sheogorath"

I stared at the letter for several moments. In my absolute irritation at his antics, I crumpled it up and threw it behind me.


	31. Phantasmagoria

"There was pain without hope of healing. There was life that refused to end, long after the mind had begged the body to cease. And worst, there were dreams come true."  
Clive Barker, _Books of Blood Volume II

* * *

_

I traveled over to the lone door in the dreary room. Delicately, my hand clasped the metallic knob. It was cold and forbidding to the touch. My brow tensed up in thought. Turning the doorknob gradually, I pushed the door open expectantly. It whined stridently on its rust hinges. I peered into the emptying doorway fearfully. I was standing in the small passageway with the barren fountain and the lonesome benches. Various ivies had corseted the dry, moss-covered fountain. The fountain I gazed at became a collage of white, green, brown, red, and yellow. I approached the fountain.

Reaching out a hand, I stroked one of the smooth leaves of the climbing ivy. As soon as my fingers made contact, the spidery tendrils of the plant began shrinking away to the floor. As the icy touched the floor, it vanished. A weird, gurgling noise originated from the fountain. Suddenly, water sputtered from the fountain. After a few seconds it began spouting water unhindered. I wandered over to the bench I had sat on far earlier. The door I entered from disappeared.

Yawning, I called out in a booming voice, "Sheogorath?" There was no answer. His name echoed emptily in the halls. _He's gone_, I thought despairingly, _gone from here_. Tears welled up in my eyes. My hands cupped my face. "Please," I thought aloud, "let this be a terrible dream." The labyrinth seemed to recognize my haplessness. The air around me felt energized and malevolent. I watched the water in the fountain turn a horrible yellow. Slowly, it changed to brown, and then black.

Water began trickling onto the floor in my direction. The water began crawling towards me at an agonizingly slow rate. I stared at the fetid water, waiting for the moment something would spring out of it like an arrow. Fortunately for me, that never came. The water just ran to the wall, and began flowing up the wall. A crash of thunder cut my thoughts in two. The fountain exploded, shooting water towards the ceiling, where it crashed and flew everywhere.

I stood up in awe. Some of the mortar began cracking, though not much. The outflow of water gradually slowed down, until the broken fountain birthed the toxic concoction no more. An ominous sound deep grumbled in the remnants of the fountainhead wrathfully. Apprehensively, I ambled over to it and gazed at it anxiously. It did not rumble once more in rage, nor did it begat some strange apparition. For that, I was happy.

Sighing, I began wandering towards the side of the room I met Sheogorath here. It was hard to imagine that just hours ago, I was standing with him. It seemed like that was centuries ago. In my pondering, I caressed the walls idly. Now, I moved cautiously down the same old hallway. Of course, he wasn't there. I came up to a door I don't remember being opened. Then, I did the routine: open the door, listen to it creak obnoxiously, and leap inside without first looking.

Several torches burning blue flames lined the walls somberly like hanged men in a row. The walls were coated with vile blankets of black, red, and brown. I stood in a room that was large and filled with little more than chains than hooks. They line the walls, snaked along the ground, and hung from the ceiling. Many of them were rusted, though hardly enough to make them weak. I pondered their existence.

I noticed something written on the blackened walls. It was on the west wall, which I quickly approached. Sheogorath, I thought, had written me a message. I read the smeared message aloud, "'_I was here, but now I'm gone_.'" A wry smile crept on my taut face. "Sheogorath," I said to myself with ironical amusement, "you're such a bastard." My face froze into a grin not unlike one of the Daedric Prince of Madness. A deep desire to strangle him wrenched at my mind. Guttural chuckling fled my throat and entered my ears with its delightful resonance. For a brief moment, my voice sounded like it was not my own.

Not for any particular reason, I felt myself laughing with an unusual gaiety. My mood was hardly light; I felt a poison for Sheogorath. Nevertheless, I chortled, and did not stop myself. The tension I had held for so long needed a release. My eyes watered and my stomach heaved. The room echoed of my laughter. I fell to the floor, no longer able to support myself under the strain, and rolled around, giggling insanely.

I gulped for air as I simmered down. "Sheogorath, you bloody bastard, if I could, I'd give you yours," I snickered, coughing as I nearly choked on my saliva. Rolling onto my side, I picked myself up unsteadily. My laughing had faded to the occasional titter. Finally, after a few moments of wobbling, I was able to stand firmly on my own two legs. I brushed off my slightly damp robe. The beaming countenance was still stuck to my face. My sanity, or the tattered remains of it, had returned.

At this point, I realized the room was cold. My skin began prickling and I found myself shivering. As I meandered to a torch, I realize the source of the frigidity. The torches, which produced an odd, ethereal violet and blue flame, emanated coldness instead of heat. In fact, I realize the soft phosphorescence in the room reflected that. That one simple observation made me want to leave the room, so I did. Without so much as thanking the room for preserving Sheogorath's wonderful message, I stormed out of the room. I had two goals: to find and accost him.

Just the thought of him simmered up my temper again. I began stalking down the hallway with a malicious expression on my face. My lips pulled back in a threatening grimace. Wandering to the next door on the same side of the hallway, I yanked it open. The room before me appeared to be completely empty, except for the light source. That light source was a light lantern sitting patiently in the middle. I blinked.

When I opened my eyes, the room had changed dramatically. Now the room contained a figured strapped down on a bulky chair. The figure's head drooped gloomily. Looking closer at the figure, I realized the person was emaciated and bruised. He, or possibly she, wore rags for clothing. The head lifted and stared into my eyes blankly. The person had my face! His eyes were dull and lifeless. "Free me," he begged of me feebly in a low voice that could be hardly heard.

"Who did this to you?" I interrogated him softly, peering at him with sympathy. He blinked his bulging eyes. He replied to me groggily, "I did. I did this to myself." He writhed in the chair that was stuck to the floor. For a moment or two, he looked away from me. "I was involved with something I should not have been involved in. I forsook myself. I let myself go to the looming Darkness. Sheogorath pitied me, so he placed me here, where my soul does not burn for eternity," he explicated, his expression growing miserable. His thin, cracked lips quivered. He squirmed in the chair again. Then, he said to me, "It's not too late for you to turn back now. You can leave it all behind. Don't make the mistake I made. Don't let go. I relive my mistake every single day in hopes I can fix it, but I never do. Don't let go." I sighed, and turned around.

At that moment, I knew something was strange. "Walter," he asked me in an unrealistically loud voice, "why can't you turn and face me?" Taking a deep breath, I answered him, "I don't want to face you. Go away. Leave me alone. Let me out of here." Sheogorath's voice cackled behind me. "Even though you saw the future," he sniggered maliciously, "you do nothing to prevent what will become of you." I clenched my hands into fish belly white fists. "Sheogorath, how do I get out of here?" I questioned him, facing him. The skeletally gaunt figure was now dressed in the garb of Sheogorath. His lips parted and his face split into an eerie grin.

"It's quite simple, my dear. You go through the door," he answered smugly, winking at me. I stared at him uncomprehendingly. He took delight in my confusion. I asked him skeptically, "What door?" Sheogorath shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. He replied casually, "You'll know when you find it." He smirked at me and laughed at my countenance. His eyes gave off a gentle glowing that extended no farther than his eye sockets. I blinked.

The chair and Sheogorath disappeared. I sighed sharply and folded my arms. "Fuck you too," I growled, glaring at the spot he once sat. Turning around and heading into the hallway, I closed the door behind me. "That was fun and giggles," I commented sardonically, waddling down the hallway. Heading in a direction I had not been, I felt uncomfortable. The floor hissed beneath my boots. That part of the labyrinth seemed to hold a grudge against me.

The air around me was stale. The cracks in the mortar of the wall formed elaborate, abstract geometric shapes. Occasionally, they formed letters, but I couldn't make any coherent messages out of the flaws. Much farther down the hall was a simple but interesting door. Something about it attracted me to it. _This is it,_ I thought, _I'm getting out of this hell forever_. My heart skipped a few thousand beats. I began sprinting towards the door.

As I ran, the part of the vast building I was in trembled. I heard the labyrinth begin to crumble and break. It was loud, and echoed in my ears. It started somewhere very distant. As it went on, its speed and volume increased. I did not stop in curiosity; I kept leaping for the door, knowing stopping would mean my death.

It was getting precariously close to me. By now, it had reached the opposite end of the hallway I was in. I increased the pace as much as I could. My heart drummed frantically in my chest, and my breath came out in short pants. Without my obvious consent, a deep shriek of determination escaped my vocal chords. The destruction was right behind me, and I only had a bit farther to go. My joints complained, and my muscles ached and cramped, but I would not, could not stop.

It was right behind me now. I had only a few strides to the door to go. At that point, I wasn't sure I would make it. I didn't care. Something about the door brought hope to my blackened, dilapidated soul. Continuing my trek, I reached within a step of the door. The sound of the annihilation was deafening. Letting myself screech in courage, I reached out for the knob. I turned it, opened it, and threw myself inside. Then, I blacked out.

I woke up sometime after. Quite surprised I was alive, I sat up briskly and opened my eyes. The shut door sat quietly next to me. I didn't remember closing it. I stood up and rubbed my head. It hurt quite badly. For a few seconds, I rubbed the spot the smarting stemmed from. I brought the fingers to my face and frowned. They were bloodied.

Stretching, I scanned my surroundings. I was in a simple corridor with two linking hallways, or the part that I could see. I turned around, and noticed myself surprised. There was a giant, rectangular shiny black door in front of me. It reminded me of the oval doors of daedric shrines. I didn't see any doorknobs. On the surface were several different reliefs of unworldly geometric shapes. However, one key feature caught my attention. Carved in the center of the door was a standing figure of a goateed man. His left hand and arm were raised in some sort of gesture. Without thinking about it, I smiled at it and pushed the door open.

I was blinded by intense light. I stepped out of the doorway and the door shut behind me. Shielding my eyes with the right sleeve of my robe, I gazed at the environment and was mystified. My right eye twitched in disbelief. I was standing in what appeared to be the Bitter Coast of Vvardenfell. Several trees surrounded me. Not far from me, I saw a rapidly moving creek and realized how thirsty I was. I darted towards it.

I knelt down beside the body of water. I did not look at my reflection then. I cupped my hands and scooped up some water. Putting my hands to my mouth, I drank the fresh and refreshing water. Then, I stared at my reflection in the mirror-like surface of the water. Staring at me was the form of Sheogorath in my clothes. My eyes widened, and so did his. I began sobbing incessantly.

I never have like mirrors since. As I'm sure you've noticed, dear, they're all broken. Sheogorath taught me men are defined by their actions. He taught me so much by that little incident. Men and women who live lives of death and sorrow separate themselves from the world and build one of their own. That's what the Mad God did in his own sort of way. With a knife, he cut the world right in two, and the other Princes split the pie further.

Am I mad? Well, I don't give a damn; just remember, I'm not who you think I am.

* * *

This fan fiction was started on February 16, 2006 and was completed on July 17, 2006 


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